


BEFORE/NOW

by KilledTheQueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Once Upon a Time Fusion, Cursed Storybrooke, Gypsy Stiles, Hunchback of Notre Dame, Lots of Music, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mechanic Derek, Music, Physical Deformity, Recluse Derek Hale, radio station, references to Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilledTheQueen/pseuds/KilledTheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Upon A Time AU ~</p><p>The one where Stiles was once a Gypsy in The Enchanted Forest but now due to "The Curse" is a Radio DJ in Storybrooke with no memory of his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU based on ABC's Once Upon a Time, you don't have to have watched the show to read, though it may help you understand certain elements. 
> 
> There is a lot of music included in this work, I've linked them to each title mentioned. They are NOT meant to be listened to along with the story, as there are times when several titles fall within a paragraph. It's meant to only give you the reader an insight as to what the station sounds like. Also to give any other music lover's out there a treat. :)
> 
> I appreciate all comments and feedback. Feel free to drop me a line.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the story!

**BEFORE/NOW**

 

**NOW**

“This is OUAT Radio, it is a pleasant fall afternoon here in Storybrooke and  you've  just heard The Arctic Monkeys with [Do I Wanna Know?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM).” Stiles lets his voice raise on the question mark in the name chuckling lightly as he queues up the next song. “It’s three o’clock on a Thursday so you know what that means, time for our all request hour where you get to choose the music. You know the drill, call, text or email the station and I’ll play your picks all the way to the end of my shift at four. We’ll start things off with a request from my bestie Ruby down at Granny’s Dinner, here’s First Aid Kit with  [Waitress Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4uPW7dImYA) .” Stiles clicks off his mic and leans back as soft guitars begin to build over the station speakers spilling slightly out into the street in front of his window.

Outside the town is quiet, not that Storybrooke is ever a bustling city. It’s small and quaint and everyone pretty much knows everyone, or knows someone who knows them. It’s comforting in a way, even if something deep down in Stiles longs for more sometimes. The radio booth sits behind a long wide window facing the street and Stiles smiles as a couple passes by waving cordially at him. he raises a hand in return hopping up from his seat to locate a CD as a new request comes in for something older that he’s pretty sure isn't on their digital server.

The next three songs are already queued up, ready to go thanks to early requests for the popular show so he takes his time looking for the right version of the of song, reaching for the outdated disc and returning to his chair to slip it into the CD player. It’s not unusual to have to reach back into the archives, the station only started switching over to digital two years ago and they’re only around two-thirds of the way done importing their CDs and vinyl. It doesn't help that there are only three of them that work at the station. Stiles handles the 8am to 4pm shift, with Erica, a blonde with a snarky attitude and great taste in music covering 4pm to midnight. Danny, a unfairly attractive computer genius, handles overnights and most weekends. Together they keep the station running smoothly and educate the people of Storybrooke in the ways of good music. Well those that listen to the station anyway. Stiles is pretty sure Mr. Harris at the Post Office is a heathen that listens to country.

The first song ends, slipping seamlessly into something more uptempo and Stiles checks the song he wants to play so that it slips into the upcoming  queue. he’s got about six more minutes until he has to go back on-air so he takes the time to relax. Outside leaves are falling, blowing slowly up the street some tumbling end over end as they bounce against the pavement. Across the street Hale auto shop is closed, like it is most of the time. The guy who owns it, Peter, is hardly ever around, just a number to call in case of emergency on the locked wrought-iron gate.

The building itself has always fascinated Stiles, it looks like it was once something else a long time ago, though he can never figure out what. It’s two stories of large dull red painted stone with a large arch to the side for cars to pull through to the back, but that is usually blocked by the gate that fits it. It looks old, turn of the century maybe, but despite the unappealing paint color it’s kept in good repair. Stiles doubts that’s thanks to Peter.

As if summoned by his thoughts a piece of white paper appears in the second story window of the building bearing the message, Light Will… Mike Doughty. Stiles laughs, this happens every once in a while. Peter has a nephew, a recluse who lives in the building across the street, and from what Stiles can tell listens religiously to his show. He’s never actually seen the guy, he catches glimpses from time to time through the iron gate as he tinkers around in the back or takes out the garbage. Stiles does however keep a small whiteboard handy for just these occasions.

NEED NAME FOR REQUEST. Stiles writes, turning it and placing it against the window. the paper disappears for a moment before returning with the artist name underlined. Stiles rolls his eyes, wipes the words on his board away and writes YOUR NAME. He knows he won’t get an answer, even as he stands and tries to put on his most charming smile. The paper disappears and doesn't come back before Stiles has to sit down and turn on his microphone.

“Thanks to August, Lydia and David for their requests. Next up is one for my mystery man, This is Mike Doughty with [Light Will Keep Your Heart Beating in the Future](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X463j6US4l0).”

 

** BEFORE **

**** “Genim!” a woman calls, “you come back here this instant!” Stiles doesn't stop, just races faster away from his caravan and into the wide open field. His feet are bare and his hair long, reaching his chin in wavy tufts that flow behind him as he runs to his mother. She’s standing in the field, surrounded by others from their tribe, a tambourine bouncing against her hip in time with the music being played.

“Momma!” Stiles calls climbing through the circle of musicians to his mother. The men laugh, patting him gently as he passes them. “Momma!” he calls again bringing her attention to him at last as she stops, and bends down to receive him, lifting him in the air and spinning him around.

“Why if it isn't my little Genim.” she says, her brown eyes soft as she looks at him, “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed that you were going to work on your letters today.”

“But momma I want to dance like you!” he says.

“I’m sorry Claudia” his tutor says, “I tried to keep him, but you know how he is.”

“Of course I do” She smiles, “Just like his mother.”

“Headstrong and unruly, sounds about right.”

“Papa!” Stiles cheers, squirming out of his mothers arms and racing towards his father. His mother following, wrapping an arm around her husband as Stiles crawled into his arms.

“How was town, my love?” she asks.

“Fine, should be all settled for The Feast next week.” His father smiles. “Glad to be back though, the city’s under a new Mayor, he’ll do his best to make trouble for us.”

 **"** They always do,” Claudia shrugs, turning to let her husband, John, lead the family back towards their camp. “Gypsies are never overly welcome.”

****  


**NOW**

There are precisely three things that Stiles loves without question. The first being music, obvious and in need of no explanation. Second, is his longboard, 36 inches of polished wood and freedom. He sighs contented as he rounds a corner, the wind flowing across his cheeks and pulling at his flannel. The third thing is Ruby, and he means this strictly platonically, Ruby is his best friend and at the end of a day like today, full or stress and mess, he can’t wait to sit down at Granny’s and share a piece of pie with her.

Don’t get him wrong, Stiles loves his job, he really does. Music has always spoken to him on a level few other things ever have. It can make him happy, make him sad, get him through break-ups, it highlights great moments and can be his anchor when he feels lost. He thinks it has to do with his mother, not that he remembers much but there is a vague image in his mind that he latches on to. A blurry recollection of dancing alongside his mother in a field, feeling safe and loved. He’s not sure if it’s real. For as long as he can recall he’s been an orphan. On his own except for the music. Anyway, the point is, that Stiles loves his job, loves bringing music and happiness to the citizens for Storybrooke, even if does mean he has to occasionally deal with Kate, the building owner.

Wheeling around the last corner, Stiles swerves to avoid Mayor Mills, waving back in acknowledgement as she yells something about watching where he’s going on a public sidewalk. He stops, kicking the tail of his board up so he can grab onto the front as he makes his way to the front door of the diner. Ruby is sitting on the counter, the shop empty before the afternoon rush. Her short black shorts and red shirt showing off her long legs and ample cleavage. If Stiles was not 100% into men, he’s sure his mouth would go dry at the sight. Instead, he just rolls his eyes, smiling at his best friend.

“I’m going to need the biggest slice of strawberry pie you have.” He sighs, dropping onto the stool at her side.

“bad day, boo?”

“You have no idea.”

“Kate?”

“I just don’t understand why she even shows up there!” He yells, arms flailing, “She owns the building, I’ll give you that, but she has no hand whatsoever in running the station.”

“I think we both know why she shows up there.”

“Yeah, so she can completely ruin the flow of my show and disorganize the entire office with her humming and hawing over interior changes she might make.”

“Oh I don’t think it’s the show she wants to ruin.” Ruby smirks, setting down a pie tin half full of pie.

“Ugh, gross.” Stiles sighs, grabbing one of the spoons from Ruby’s hand.

“Better eat up, this is the last of the season.”

“No” Stiles whines, “not my strawberry pie, it’s the one thing that’s right about this world.”

“You know you have a very weird obsession with a seasonal pie, right?”

“Can you blame me?” Stiles moans around his fork.

“Well there goes my appetite.”

“Whatever, you love me.”

“God knows why…”

“Because your cleavage has no effect on me and I play all your requests, even when it’s Top 40.”

“I suppose you’re not so bad.”

“So you want to go hit up a movie with me when you get off?”

“Sure. I’m off at nine.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up then. I’m going to go home and grab a cat nap before then, dealing with that woman is exhausting.”

“Fine, but i’m driving, you are not getting me in that box of spare parts you call a jeep.”

“Hey!” Stiles glares as he picks at the remainder of the pie. “Roscoe is a classic.”

“Yes, you’re right I’m sorry.” She nodded, “I’m not getting in that classic box of spare parts.”

“That’s better.” Stiles smiled, kissing Ruby on the cheek and heading off for home.

Stiles lives on the East side of town, not too far from the station or Granny’s in Storybrooke’s finest trailer park. Okay, so it’s Storybrooke’s only trailer park, but it’s not so bad in actuality. Rent is cheap and the neighbors are friendly enough, especially since he bought good headphones and doesn't bother them with loud music at two o’clock in the morning anymore. it’s not much, a sitting area, decent sized kitchen, bath and a bedroom but Stiles has made it his own. The walls are covered in colorful gig posters, and his furniture is bright and well loved.

He drains a cup of cool water and downs a couple Advil before heading back to his bed. He hates dealing with Kate, it’s all innuendo and scarcely veiled threats to his position at the station. Not that she could really fire him. It’s her niece that owns the station. Allison does the books and keeps the station going in all the ways the on-air staff would be hopeless at. She does happen to be very close to her aunt though, which means Stiles has to play nice no matter how badly the older woman creeps him out. Lately though, it’s gotten more extreme. He hadn't told Ruby because he knows what she’d do, march down to the station to defend his honor. Which you know, he should be able to do himself, but there you go.

Stiles lays back in bed, the one piece of furniture he’d spent a truly obscene amount of money on, and nestles into the blankets. Tomorrow will be better, he tells himself. He may not be rich like Kate or have any family like Ruby, but he’s got a job he loves and a best friend who would do anything for him. That should be enough he’s sure. That part of him that yearns for more disagrees.

****  


**BEFORE**

The Feast of Fools  is always Genim’s favorite time of the year. The costumes, the music and dancing, it’s all so vibrant and fun and it’s the one day of year the gypsy camp is truly welcome. Genim is ten this year, too old to have to stick with his parents at all times but too young to be able to perform yet. So he spends time wandering the merchant booths in between performances. He never misses his mother dance.

It’s the third day of the five day festival when Genim notices the boy for the first time. The town surrounds a large ornate church, taller and more costly looking than any Genim has seen before. Carved gargoyles and cherubs line arches and windows, works of art that must have taken some time to complete. There are also two large bell towers near the front and twice a day they ring out over the city, once at sunrise and once as the sun sets. It’s beautiful and Genim has spent a lot of time marveling at the sheer size of it. Today however, his attention is caught not by the art and architecture but by a boy.

He sits far up, legs hanging over a ornately carved water spout. Genim cannot see much of the boy as he has a hood pulled over his head and sits so high but he cannot help but wonder what he’s doing up there. It does not take him much time to decide to investigate. Genim is by far the most curious member of their tribe, and it has gotten him in trouble more than once, but he can’t help the need he feels pulling him onward towards the lonely looking figure.

He decides to climb. The boy is sitting about mid-way up the side of the cathedral, in the shadows. It’s a miracle that Genim had spotted him to begin with, but if the boy was able to get there then Genim is sure he’ll be able to make the climb. He finds a foothold at the base, a small gap between the lattice stonework and pushes himself off the ground, his opposite foot leaving the earth and searching carefully for the best spot to balance his weight. He manages to make it most of the way up before the boy notices him.

“Hi!” Genim says, all he sees is a bright shock of white beneath the boys hood before he moves, quickly back towards the building. “Wait!” Genim calls, reaching for a hold on the large stone waterspout the boy had been perched on. The boy stills, back against the outer wall of the cathedral. There is something odd if the way he stands, one shoulder much higher than the other and his chest hitching forward as if standing straight would pain him. “I’m Genim” he says, still struggling to pull himself the rest of the way up. The boy doesn’t speak, but Genim isn’t deterred as he hefts his knee up on the spout with a relieved smile. “For a second there I thought I might not make i-” Genim’s knee slips suddenly a brittle bit of stone giving way and his balance tipping backwards. He has a moment of fear, as his heart stops in his chest before there is a rough hand around his. He’s hanging precariously, eyes on the ground too far away to look welcoming when he realizes he’s been saved. Looking up, he sees that the boys hood has come away a bit, tanned skin framing a pair of lips with a gnarled scar running through them.

“Hang on” the boy says, dragging Genim further up until he can once again grab hold of the spout to help pull himself to safety. The boy immediately backs away once Genim is safe, walking until he’s back against the building’s wall, pulling his hood forward even in the shadows.

“Thank-thank you” Genim breathes, a hand on his chest.

“What do you think you were doing?” the boy scolds.

“I-I didn't think”

“No, you didn't!” the boy yells, “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to climb so high?”

“You’re up here.”

“Well yes, but I live here, I know these walls.”

“You live here?” Genim tilts his head, “in a church?”

“My uncle boards me here with the monks.” the boy says, still not coming away from the shadows. “But you- what are you doing here? Where are your parents?”

“First off, I’m ten, okay. I can go places without my parents.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I  didn't  realize I was speaking to a grown up.” Genim is pretty sure he’s rolling his eyes beneath his hood.

“Secondly” he continues, “I saw you up here and I thought you looked lonely. I wanted to come see if you were okay.”

“By scaling the side of the cathedral? Are you mad?”

Genim ignores the boy, taking a moment to walk further in towards the building desiring more stability after his near fall. the boy backs away the closer he gets, but Genim figures he’s probably just sheltered, after all he’s being raised by monks. Genim has never been to a church before but he’s heard they are pious people who like to surround themselves with books and take vows of silence. He thinks it must be very odd to live with men who never speak.

“What are you doing up here anyway?” .

The boy is silent for a moment before sighing, “Watching The Feast.”

“From all the way up here?” Genim looks down from their place, he can see the city well, the square stretched to capacity with colorful tents and booths in which vendors are selling their wares, people roam to and fro but it is hard to make out much detail. “Why don’t you just go down?” the boy stays silent, staying just out of arm's reach. “I mean it is interesting to view the city from up here, but wouldn't you rather see what all there is to experience down there?”

“I’m not allowed” the boy says.

“Are you in trouble?” The boy says nothing but Genim can tell he is shaking his head “no” from beneath his hood. “Are the monks keeping you prisoner?”  The boy laughs lightly, shaking his head no again.

“I’m just..not allowed.”

“Well that’s okay I guess.” Genim says, taking a seat on the more secure ledge. “The show should be starting in an hour or so anyway, it might be interesting to watch it from up here.”

“The Gypsy’s show?” The boy asks, moving slightly closer to peer down.

“Yeah, that’s the one. My mom is our most talented dancer and my dad plays the guitar for her.” Genim beams with pride.

 **"** Y-your a gypsy?” The boy gasps.

“Uh, yeah.” He thought it was obvious, though his skin is more fair that is typical, he takes after his father who joined the caravan as opposed to be born into it, he still bares the usual dark hair and eyes. His wavy hair reaching his chin and his clothes are well worn and patched with bright colors. All typical of the tribe.

“I've never met a gypsy before.” the boy says, taking a tentative seat at his side.

“Well I've never met a monk who could climb walls before, so it’s a good day for both of us” he smiles.

The boys sit in silence for a time, until the show starts and Genim begins to tell his new friend all about what it’s like to be a gypsy. His new friend, “Derek, my name is Derek” the boy says, seems fascinated and a bit lonely. Genim can’t blame him if the monks won’t let him even leave for The Feast. They talk for hours, well Genim talks and Derek listens intently. They don’t talk about Derek though, the one time Genim starts to ask about his body, there’s obviously some deformity, shoulders uneven and chest bent forward he can see Derek’s muscles start to seize in discomfort, so he drops the subject quickly. They watch the town well into the night, Genim explaining the dances and music and both staring intently at the flames the fire-eaters blow high into the sky. It’s well into the night by the time it occurs to  Genim that he should probably get home before his parents worry.

“I’ll help you down” Derek says, and so he does, leading Genim down, showing him where is safe to step and which carvings have steady landings he can  balance on. Genim can’t help but marvel at how elegantly Derek climbs despite the deformity of his chest and shoulder. When they reach the ground it’s dark, the streets mostly empty save for late night revelers.

“Come with me” Genim says, “You can meet my parents and tomorrow you can watch the show from the ground!” he can’t see the boy’s face underneath his hood, but he still feels his weariness.

“I cannot.”

“Why? You seem so unhappy here.”

 **"** I do not expect you to understand.” Derek says, “You are still a child, but I have a duty to my uncle to stay here.”

 **"** I’m not a child. You cannot be much older than me.”

“I am nearly fifteen.”

“That’s not so much older, there is a boy in the tribe that age and teacher says I have already surpassed him in my studies.”

“Gypsies study?”

“Of course we study!” Genim rolls his eyes, “I know my letters and sums and music. This year I’ll start my dance training.”

“Dance training?”

“Yes, I want to perform with my mother when I’m older and she’s schooled in several styles of dance and reads tarot.”

“Well maybe I will see you dance some day.”The boy says, bringing his hand up for Genim to shake.

**"** Deal” Genim shakes, though he still wishes he could take Derek with him.

****  


**NOW**

Stiles curses his luck as he pulls over to the side of the road. Ruby will never let him live this down. He’d been in a hurry that morning, needing to stop by the library to return a few books before his shift at the station. Of course his beloved Jeep took that opportunity to stall and ultimately die just five blocks from work. “Come on baby, don’t do this to me” he pleads, turning the key only to watch as Roscoe once again sputters and fails to turn over. “Shit!” he hits the steering wheel, grabbing his backpack from the back seat and jumping out of the car. At least he was able to pull over before it died.

Looking at his watch Stiles sees that he has ten minutes to make it to work. He starts to hoof it, feet pounding on the cement as he turns on to 5th, just in time to hear Danny’s voice through the outdoor speakers announcing his final song before his shift ends.

“Nice of you to make it Stilinski” Danny says as Stiles stumbles through the door and into the booth.

“Sorry, sorry, my car broke down on the way here.”

“When are you going to trade that thing in man? It’s practically an antique.”

“Not all of us love the soulless interior of the Ford Focus, Danny-boy.”

“Whatever” Danny smirks, “I queued up a couple tracks for you so you could get settled in.”

“Thanks man, I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Danny says, waving and then he’s off leaving Stiles alone at the desk.

Stiles leans back, rubbing his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and thinking that he really needs to get to the gym if a five block run left him so out of breath. Logging into his computer he sees his station inbox is pretty bare, just one email from Alison requesting that Stiles once again please remember to turn in his time card if he would like to get paid, another from Erica with a link to an Alternative Press article on JD McPherson and one from Ruby saying “It feels like a Smiths kind of morning.” Stiles rolls his eyes, Ruby thinks every overcast morning is a “Smiths kind of morning” but he queues up  [Panic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JlYXp_3A64k) for her just the same.  

He also takes an opportunity to check his bank account, disappointed to find that whatever repairs the Jeep needs to have done will surely wipe out his savings. Easy come, easy go he supposes. He can only hope he can work out some kind of deal with Peter.

The clock ticks over to 8:05 and the song ends so Stiles flips on his mic. “Good Morning Storybrooke this is Stiles Stilinski hanging in here with you until four o’clock this afternoon, welcome to this gorgeous Friday morning. The temperature is… 61 degrees, not too bad for this time of year, the high today looking to hit 67. You've just heard  [Pressure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CePpTXIuQzY) by My Brightest Diamond, one of my new favorites for sure. Before we get back into the music, the city council would like me to remind everyone that the Halloween Carnival & Gala are only three weeks away and they’re still looking for volunteers. If you or someone you know is interested please submit your information to Mayor Mills by next Wednesday. Okay, all that junk out of the way how about some Frank Turner to get us off to a good start, here he is with  [The Way I Tend to Be](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cf5O2M5GaEA) .”

Across the street a hint of movement draws his attention away from his computer, Dr. Hopper waves from the sidewalk where he and Pongo are taking their morning walk. Stiles waves back, warmed by the essence of a small town that allows him to be on friendly terms with most of his neighbors. As the doctor moves on a flash of black catches his eye. Behind the fence of the auto shop Stiles can see a black bag being lifted into the dumpster.

Checking his queue, that shows him with twelve minutes to spare until he needs to be back on air, Stiles jumps from his chair, making his way out the door and across the street. “Hello?” He calls as he approaches the gate, the rustling of bags still sounding behind the fence. “Hello?” He tries again. The noise stops, “Hello? Mr. Hale? It’s me Stiles, from the radio station.” He can’t see the man clearly, just the sleeve of a black leather jacket on the other side of the dumpster. “Listen, my Jeep broke down this morning and I was hoping I could get you to tow it here.”

“I-” a voice sounds, it’s unsure and quiet and definitely not Peter Hale, the man  doesn't  have a shy bone in his body. “I can do that.”

“Oh great” Stiles smiles, trying to get a better look at the man behind the dumpster, which he knows now must be Peter’s mysterious nephew. “I really hope it’s nothing too major, but you know, it’s my Jeep so chances are…”

“It’s no problem” the nephew says, “I’ll have Peter call you.” and with that Stiles watches the arm disappear and listens as footsteps fade away.

Stiles shrugs, ignoring the strange feeling of disappointment in his chest, and makes his way back to the station, just in time to into the next song and list their local sponsors. Later in the day he watches as Peter pulls up the repair shop with his beloved blue Jeep trailing behind him. Peter smiles and waves as he enters through the now opened gate and Stiles responds in kind.

It’s several hours later, almost the end of Stiles’ shift when he sees Peter crossing the street towards him.  he’s wearing a clean oxford shirt and chinos and Stiles can only assume that his nephew must do the brunt of actual work. Peter smiles and makes his way inside, waiting for the on-air light to darken before making his way into the booth.

“Well Mr. Stilinski, the good news is that we've found the problem.”

“And the bad news?”

“You need a new alternator.”

Stiles whines, “And how much does that run.”

“With parts and labor, I’d say about seven-fifty.” Stiles frowns as he tallies numbers in his head, even with his savings and what he can spare from his checking he’s still about $200 short.

“And there’s no way we could get away any cheaper?” He asks, hoping for some kind of stop-gap that could at least get his baby up and running.

“Afraid not, kiddo.” He smirks, leaning against Stiles’ desk, “Of course we may be able to work out some kind of alternative payment…” Stiles’ skin crawls at the look in the older man’s eyes.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, “but I’ll come up with it.”

Peter looks slightly disappointed but shrugs as he makes his way towards the door. “Suit yourself, I’ll call you when it’s done, shouldn’t take more than a day.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh and Stiles, cash only I’m afraid.” Stiles sighs and nods his understanding.

Stiles settles once Peter and his sincerely creepy vibes vacate his booth and is able to finish up his show with only a mild feeling of desolation. He has no one he can borrow money from, Ruby is just as broke as him, Erica wouldn't loan him money and he doesn't know Danny that well. He supposes he could always ask Alison for an advance on his pay but even thinking about it makes him feel like a loser. In the end he knows what he has to do, he was just really hoping to avoid it.

Stiles skates home, trying to let the feeling of the cool autumn wind lull him into a peaceful state, but it  doesn't  really work. The guitar is sitting next to his bed, in the corner, a place of honor that comforts him while he sleeps. It’s all he has left of his parents. He thinks if belonged to his father, a memory, hazy like all of them he has of his family, of large hands guiding his small fingers on the frets always with him when he plays. It’s the only thing of value he really owns. A result of being a young orphan he supposes. He  doesn't  want to part with it, god he really  doesn't , but it’s this or skating to work through a long winter in Maine.

He gathers the instrument up before he can think much more about it and heads out the door. Strapping the guitar to his back and starting off, Stiles wonders where would give him the best price. Mr. Gold’s in the obvious place, but there’s also a small music shop downtown. It’s windows are always lined with well loved instruments and signs about music lessons. Stiles decides to start there, hoping a store specializing in music will have a better appreciation for the instrument.

It only takes about five minutes to reach the store, Storybrooke being the hamlet that it is. The sign says open on the door and when Stiles steps inside something in him is both settled and unnerved. Stiles wasn't aware that was even possible.

“Be with you in a minute!” A voice calls from the back of the shop. Stiles takes the opportunity to look around. He’s never been in the store before, strange since he’s so musically inclined. He’s always picked up instruments easily, and as he looks around his fingers itch to hold so many of the old but well cared for pieces on display. “And what can I help you with?” A blonde man stands behind the counter, kind eyes and pale skin.

“I have this” Stiles says, swinging the guitar off his back and placing it gently on the counter in front of the man.

“Looking to sell?” Stiles only nods. “Well lets take a look.” the man opens the case, carefully unzipping it to reveal the antique and intricate design of the acoustic guitar. Letting out an impressed whistle the man looks up to him, “You sure you want to part with this, son?” Stiles looks away, tears prickling behind his eyes and nods.

The guitar comes out of the case then, the man picking it up gently and rotating it to take in all the details and no doubt look for any damage. “It’s a fine instrument” he says, Again Stiles can only nod as the man places it back in it’s case, “I can offer you eight hundred.”

“That much?” Stiles asks.

“Well” the man begins, counting out the cash, “seems to me that someone would have to be in dire straights to give up a piece like that, well loved and taken care of as it is. Tell you what, you take $400 for it and I’ll keep it in the back, lock it up tight and when you have the money you can come and buy it back from me.”

“Wh-” Stiles is almost too overcome to continue, “why would you do that for me?”

“Well Stiles, it is Stiles right?”

“Yeah, how did you…”

“I’m a fan of the show and the town isn’t that big. I’d hate to see someone who cares about music the way you do lose the thing that most ties them to it. So, do we have a deal?” the store owner holds out a hand and Stiles grasps it immediately.

“Yes, yes, sir!”

**"** Call me John.” the man laughs and hands over the cash. “She’ll be here when you’re ready for her.” he says patting the case. Stiles reaches over and draws the warm stranger into a hug.

****  


**BEFORE**

“Then Scott said that it was a miracle I hadn't managed to break my neck.” Genim smiled as his companion scrubbed at one of the large bells that hung over the cathedral.

“You should be more careful”

“Ha!” Genim scoffed, “coming from the man that scales the walls of this cathedral daily.”

“I was raised here. I know every nook and cranny of these walls.” the boy says, dipping his cloth into the cleaner, “where as you seem hardly able to stand on your own two feet without tumbling off something.”

“I’m supposed to stumble, Derek I was practicing to be an acrobat.”

Genim smiled looking on as his friend turned from the bell to start back towards him. Derek had saved him from a fall the first year they’d met and had never let him live it down. Genim had of coursed returned the favor by continuing to come and harass him every year during The Feast of Fools. Derek rolled his eyes, “An acrobat? I thought you wanted to be a dancer.” He loved his time with his friend, Derek was a recluse, from what Genim was able to get out of him after many years it had something to do with his uncle and his physical deformity.

Derek was tall, dark short hair cropped close and soft to his face, with a sturdy back that sloped forward due to crushed ribs on the right side that never healed properly as a child. A long scar also ran across his face from just beside his right eye, down and through his lips to end at his chin. For the first two years of their acquaintance Derek has been ashamed of his physical disfigurement, hiding under hoods and shying away from standing too close. Over time though he had opened up, and now five years later he did not flinch when he sat next to him and Genim softly patted him on the shoulder.

“Well of course I want to be a dancer, but gypsies can be many things, my friend.”

“How long does it take to become a dancer?”

“Mom says I should be able to dance next year. Can you believe it?” Genim asks, clutching his friends’ arm excitedly. “Me? On the main stage? It’s going to be magnificent. You’ll come won’t you?” he asked, turning to his friend, “oh please say you’ll come! It would mean so much to me.”

“Why should that be so?” Derek asks, shying away from the request.

“Because you’re my best friend Derek.” The boy says as if to say obviously.

“What? Me?” the boy asked wide eyed, “But what about Scott?”

“Hey I love Scott, he’s fun and great, but all he ever wants to talk about is Kira. Kira this, Kira that, I can’t talk with him like I can with you and I only get to see you once a year. No, you are my dearest friend. So please, please say you’ll come?” Genim pleads, trying to look as pathetic as possible.

“Fine: Derek sighs, “If by some miraculous twist of fate you feature on the center stage next year, I will come.”

“Yes!” Genim whoops, jumping to his feet and dancing around in tight circle. “You won’t regret it Derek, I’ll be so great you’ll see.” Derek starts as Genim grabs his hand, pulling him up from his seat and making him spin around with him. “Come on Derek, don’t be a stick in the mud!” Genim calls as he leads Derek around by the hand. Derek struggles at first slightly clumsy due to his abnormal right side but soon he catches up, bringing Genim in closer so that they can dance closer together.

Genim is the only one Derek would do this with, he knows it. The man would never let his guard down around anyone else and it warm’s Genim’s insides as his friend smiles. Derek is twenty now, a man for all intents and purposes but for having never left the walls of the cathedral, and each time Genim sees him he finds him more handsome, more approachable. Genim fears the friendship that flows so easily between them sometimes. He worries that no one will ever be able to live up to the freedom and happiness he feels when he’s with Derek. 

A drum rolls loudly below them and both stop their dancing to rush to the side of the roof. Below The Feast of Fools is officially starting. He can see his tribe, brightly clothed and singing filing into the center of the square as citizens and revelers join in on the fun. “I’ll have to go soon” Genim says, “I’m mean to perform at sundown.”

“I’m sure you’ll be great.” Derek smiles.

“I wish you would come.”

“You know I can’t”

“I know you think you can’t”

“Genim…” Derek warns but the younger does not listen.

“Derek it would be so much fun and no one would pay attention to you under your cloak, you could blend in so easy I promise.”

“I can’t”

“Please! I won’t leave your side for a moment, I only wish you to be there with me. You deserve so much more than this Der-”

“I said NO!” Derek says shoving Genim aside. The younger slides back, landing on his back a couple feet away, his elbow throbbing from where it hits against the cement. “Genim…”

“No, fine” Genim says, standing and straightening out his clothes, “it’s fine. I don’t...I’m old enough to know I cannot have everything I want. I am sorry to have asked.” without a further word Genim leaves down a ladder that will lead him down a flight of stairs to the base of the belltower.

He rushes downward hearing Derek call after him momentarily, but he does not stop. He’s angry and more importantly hurt. Genim understands that Derek is afraid of people, of how they might perceive him, but he still can’t understand his reaction. There was no need for Derek to lash out at him that way. All Genim wanted was his best friend with him. He only wanted him to experience something outside the stuffy walls and the monks, but If he refused to leave then there’s nothing Genim can do for him.

His steps falter as he hears voices enter the stairwell, “He is simply polishing the bells, Master Hale.” a voice comes from below himl. Genim ducks back into the shadows of the poorly lit stairs as two men pass him, a monk and the man he had addressed.

The man is tall, well dressed and with an air of money, an easy mark for pick-pocketing if Genim had seen him in the square. A black tri-fold had sits upon his head while the rich fabric of his cloak echoes softly in the small space. Derek’s uncle Peter he presumes. “I don’t care what he’s doing the man growled, what if he should be seen? What if someone should discover that monster out in the open?” Genim wants to speak, wants to protest against Peter speaking of Derek that way, but he has no doubt that it would only lead to trouble.

“He is just a boy, your grace. Perhaps if you only took him out with you…”

**"** What?!” Peter stopped, turning towards the monk, “Are you suggesting I take that thing into society with me? Introduce him as my kin?”

“He is more than his deformity.”

“I don’t care if he’s God.” Peter growls making his way up the stairs and out of Genim’s sight. Genim feels his stomach turn, it’s no wonder Derek has reservations about leaving the cathedral if that is how his own uncle speaks of him. He takes the opportunity to rush the rest of the way down the stairs and out of the bell tower once the men are out of sight.

He had never met Peter before, The Mayor of the city, only heard the way any story involving him would stop and start with unease as Derek told it. What a fool he’s been to push the older man so. It was unfair of him to expect his friend to forget the years of hiding just because he wanted him to come see him in some stupid show. He decides to apologize to Derek first thing in the morning. Maybe even sneak away some of Scott’s mother’s famous cinnamon bread for him. He will make it up to him. That much he promises himself.

Genim makes his way through the crowds, towards the small side street where the tribe had placed their caravans for the duration of The Feast. Around him people buzz in excitement as they stop to watch a sword swallower, Boyd winks as Genim passes, and buy candied apples from a vendor. The first day of The Feast is always the busiest, the anticipation enrapturing the crowds as it breaks over them in waves of performers, games and sweet treats.

 **"** Genim!” he hears his name called and turns to find his father. “Where have you been?”

“Yes, where indeed?” his mother smirks as she comes up behind him, setting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him further into their camp. Both of his parents are under the impression that Genim is hiding a sweetheart. One that he can only see when they are in town. It is untrue obviously, but Genim isn’t sure how to explain about Derek. Not when his existence is meant to be a secret, so he lets his parents assume.

“No where, I was just wandering.”

“Wandering, huh?” his father says, his dirty blonde hair highlighted by the setting sun. “seems like he does more and more of that every year,  wouldn't  you say?”

“Oh yes, dear.” His mother smiles.

“Yes, yes, haha” Genim says sneaking out from under his mother’s touch, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get dressed for my performance with Scott.”

“Don’t wander off!” he father yells after him. The man thinks himself a comedian.

The performance that night is well attended. Many people circled around the small side stage he and Scott are to appear at. “Where have you been!?”Scott snaps as he helps Genim to tighten his vest across his chest, “I almost thought I was going to have to go on alone.”

“Well that would have been a short show” Genim smirks, most of their tricks can only be done with two people, and a third of course to work the crowd for loose pockets. Gypsies aren’t thieves per-say but when the rich of the city come out to stare at their spectacle and leave without even a contribution to the basket set on the stage well, it only seemed right to relieve them of some of that undisclosed wealth.

“Ladies and Gentlemen I give you, all the way from the courts of The Enchanted Forest, the fabulous Romani brothers!” the audience cheers as Genim and Scott make their way on stage. the Romani brothers is a stage name, used for just about every pair of acrobats that have ever performed, Romani being another name for the people of The Enchanted Forest use for gypsies. They smile to the crowd, making their bows at the center of the stage before starting their routine.

They start off simple, Scott is more muscular than Genim, easily able to balance the other’s weight as he steps up onto Scott’s thighs, clutching hands, palm to palm. Finding balance, Genim then places a knee on one of Scott’s shoulders, lifting his body up and up, until suddenly he can remove his knee and balance himself fully on Scott’s palms, his body rising until it is straight in the air. The crowd cheers as Genim balances, Scott spins around carefully in a circle as the audience continues to laugh and clap. Genim spreads his legs, split eagled in the air balancing himself for a three count until Scott comes to a stop and he is able to push off his partner’s palms and flip down, landing face to face before his friend.  They both bow, before flowing quickly into their next trick.

The show progresses swiftly, from tumbling in a circle composed of both their bodies, to balance rope tricks. They’re about halfway through their time when Genim notices the man in the hood. He’s making himself small, back up against the far side of the stage, where the shadows help camouflage that one shoulder rises noticeably higher than the other. Genim feels as if his smile will split his face. “Genim!” Scott whispers, call him back to the task at hand, a back flip off of a large barrel and onto his friends shoulders. The boys clap in unison as he seats himself perfectly and turn to the audience.

Once they’re done, a final double roll to the front of the stage, hats extended for tips, Genim turns back to catch a glance at Derek. He can just make him walking away down a dark alley to the side. “I need to go.”

“What? I need you to help set up for the next act.”

“I’ll owe you one!” Genim calls as he bounces from the stage in the direction of his friend. He hears Scott mumble something unflattering but runs quickly just the same. “Derek!” he calls, trying to catch up to his friend. He catches sight of him, just as Derek rounds a corner and wastes no time in following after him.

the streets are thick with people as Genim pushes through, but he’s small, thin torso and legs letting him slide between the festival goers easily as he rushes to catch up. He’s almost to the square when he loses him, “Derek!’ he calls, gaining some annoyed looks from those around him but no response. Nevertheless, there is only one place his friend would be going. Stiles dives back into the throng of people, heading as best he can towards the cathedral. He’s just pushed past a portly fellow who seems to be wobbling from too much drink when he’s knocked to the ground.

“Watch where you’re going!” a booming voice hollers down at him, picking Genim up by the collar before he even has a chance to react to his fall. The man is a soldier from what he can tell, polished armor of the city sentinels laying over his chest and a sword stuck into the scabbard at his side.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was only-”

“Be quiet” the man seethes, bringing Genim closer to his chest, “gypsy scum fowling up our streets, just look at what you did to my boots.” Genim looks down, unable to see any damage, but knowing to a sentinel it doesn't always matter. They like many see The Feast as a scourge on their “peaceful” city.

“I-I’m terribly sorry, sir. It was an accident honest.”

“And what of that to my boots, boy? No doubt a pest like you has no money to repair them. I could have to locked up for recklessness and  destruction of property”

“No! Please sir” he begs, “I meant no harm, I was only in a hurry...”

“Oh, in a hurry, well then that excuses everything.” the soldier mocks, “No mind, boy. I’ll just take the cost out of your hide.”

Genim knows he’s not much yet, to thin and gangly after his last growth spurt to do any damage to a trained soldier. He looks around, hoping for someone that will intervene, but the people that pass avert their eyes choosing to avoid conflict. the sentinel’s arm comes up, fist rearing back to strike and all Genim can do is brace himself for the impact. All he can hope is that the man will take mercy on him, leave him without irreparable damage.

“Hey!” Genim stumbles back as his collar is torn from the soldier’s hand, a man, Derek if the cloak and off-set of his shoulders is to be believed, now stands between him and sentinel. The soldier looks livid, ruddy cheeks red and eyes big, “How dare you come between me and dispensing justice!”

“I saw no justice being carried out here,” Derek growls. “only a man picking on a boy half his size.”

“And would you like to take his place?” the soldier grins, pushing Derek back on his side, causing the man to stumble back, Genim steps forward bracing his hands around his friend, “Let it go, Derek, he’s not worth the trouble he would bring.”

“Yes,” the man smiles, reaching around Derek to pull Genim forward “listen to your little friend, freak.”

“Do. Not. touch him.”

“And if I do?”

“I will make it so you never enjoy the warmth of woman or man again.” Derek smiles, calling both Genim and the Sentinel’s attention to where he holds a blade do his crotch just below his armour.

“You wouldn’t dare” the soldier says, but his eyes travel between the knife and Derek steadily enough to know he’d not sure of the claim.

“Try it and see.”

“You’ll be sorry for this” The soldier says, releasing his hold on Genim and taking a step back. “The mayor will know of this, and you will be sorely punished.” He spits, saliva landing at their feet before he moves away through the crowd.

“What were you thinking?” Genim demands, pulling Derek around to look at him, “He could have killed you.”

“He would have killed you.”

“You don’t know that!” Genim demands, “And even so, better me than you.”

“Do not say such things” Derek growls, taking a moment to run hands over Genim looking for any unnoticed injuries, “you have your parents and your tribe, they would be devastated to lose you. Do not take your own life so lightly.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Genim insists, brushing Derek’s hands away. “And I don’t take my life lightly, but neither would I wish your life to take the place of mine.”

“Well, we will just have to agree to disagree it would seem.” Genim scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I suppose this will be another thing I owe you for. You’re making a habit of saving my life.” Genim smiles as they begin to once again make their way towards Derek’s home.

“Are you referring to the time I saved your from tumbling to your death when you decided to scale the side of the cathedral?”

“I am.”

“Well perhaps if you would stop taking such careless actions, I could take a break from life-saving.” He shrugs. “I would not mind.”


	2. The Second

**NOW**

 

Stiles just settling down, a cup of mediocre coffee from the station’s machine in hand when he notices movement across the street. It’s the auto shop, of course it is, because Stiles has only been slightly obsessed with trying to catch a glimpse of the mystery nephew he talked to last week. He’d hoped he’d see him when he went to pay and pick up his jeep but no such luck. Peter had been there with his swarmy grin and veiled innuendo, but no nephew in sight. But now there is movement and Stiles knows Peter hasn't been around for at least a few hours.

The curtains on the second floor flutter slightly before a piece of paper is held up to the glass of the window. The large block letters spell out H-E-L-L-O. It stays there for a second, Stiles too shocked to respond before it’s whipped away quickly, as if the sender of the message is embarrassed. Stiles can’t help but smile.

He doesn't know much about Peter’s nephew, from what he can tell no one really does. The only reason Stiles even knew he was male before was because he’d heard Peter  talking about his poor sick nephew to Granny at the dinner one night when he came in to pick up food. Despite talking to him the other day and the faint glimpses he gets from time to time, he’s never managed to see much beyond the back of a black jacket and a gray hood peeking out from underneath.

He wonders if this is the guy reaching out. He’s submitted song requests this way before of course, but never anything like this. A simple greeting, open to response and perhaps even further conversation.

Stiles realizes that he’s been staring for a while when the final song in his queue stops and he has to flail and searching for a song to play to before he’s stuck with dead air. He pops on the latest from [Chastity Brown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joJlY9AYf2I) and queues up a couple more tracks before he’s able to take a deep breath. It’s as he leans back in his chair again that he notices another note.

**Are you okay?** it reads.

Stiles immediately picks up his whiteboard only to find that Erica has not so helpfully drawn a graphic depiction of Stiles jerking off on a leather jacket. Stiles hurriedly wipes the image away, hoping no one else saw it. He tells the woman he’s curious one time…. Okay, maybe several times in detail,  but that is just uncalled for. Stiles shakes his head, pulling out his dry erase marker and writing out, fine but then hurriedly erasing it, before writing, **better now that I have my jeep back.** he holds it up to the window for a moment before bringing it back to write, **are you the one that fixed her?** He waits for a moment, expecting a yes, since he’s never seen Peter with so much as a smear of grease on his impeccably tailored shirts. Instead when the paper is back it reads, **HER?** Stiles smiles, realizing that the other man is attempting to keep the conversation going.

As the song on-air begins to wind down, Stiles holds up a finger, indicating for his neighbor to give him a moment. Slipping on his headphones and flipping on his mic, Stiles breathes deeply. “Good morning Storybrooke, that was [Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H3g0d6Cgqyg) here on OUAT Radio, his new album is out now and if you’re lucky you may be able to get your hands on one of five, count them, five copies that our local music store has decided to stock. Looks like the rest of us are stuck with our dark Apple overlords to provide for us.” Outside a black SUV pulls up and parks in front of the station window, Stiles cringes as Kate steps out a too bright smile pulling at her red lips. “So while we wait for our local music provider to update their stock, lets move on with this classic that you will definitely find on their shelves, this is  [‘You Can’t Always Get What You Want’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7S94ohyErSw) by The Rolling Stones.”

Kate doesn't wait for an invitation simply walking into the booth the moment the on-air light is no longer lit. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite DJ.” she purrs.

“What can I do for you Kate?” Stiles asks, trying to look busy as he organizes the CDs littering his station.

“I’m so glad you asked” she says, taking a seat on the desk directly in front of him. her short skirt leaving little to the imagination as it rides up her thighs, “The mayor was just in my office going on and on about the station, how her kid just won’t stop talking about how much he loves the music you all play.”

“Uh huh” Stiles, says, pushing away from the desk to stock the CDs and get some distance. It’s not that Kate isn’t attractive, she is, if you like that preying mantis I will use you and decapitate you after vide. However, Stiles, as he had tried to explain to her many times was gay. Not bi, not .questioning, Stiles is 100% queer and Kate is missing one thing that Stiles finds essential in a partner. “Well I’m glad Henry likes the music, he sends requests in every once in a while, it’s nice to see young kids taking an interest.”

“Well, I happened to mention that I owned the station.” Stiles bites his tongue at the utter falseness of the statement. “And she was just so excited, so long story short you will be DJing the Mayor’s annual Halloween Gala.”

“Excuse me?”

“No need to thank me, sweetie.”

“Thank you?” Stiles asks incredulously, “Why would I thank you?”

“I got you a high profile gig.”

“A gig you had no authority to authorize!”

“I own the station”

“You own the building, which as I understand it we pay you handsomely for, Allison owns the station. She is the only one that can authorize things like that, and besides what if I have plans? Did you ever think of that?”

The smile drops off Kate’s face, “First off, Stiles, I own what I say I own. Allison may be the station manager but she could not run this place without me and my continued support. You think this place rakes in the dough, sweetie? Think again. You hemorrhage money and if I say you’re going to DJ this gala for Mayor Mills, you’re going to DJ the gala. This isn’t a discussion, this is me telling you to jump, and now you can ask how high.” Her eyes are blazing, shining with more anger than he’s ever seen on her face. He’s always thought of Kate as a nuisance, a harassment case waiting to happen at worse, this is the first time he’s beginning to see that she could well be a bigger threat than he anticipated. “You got it?” Stiles nods slowly, completely confused as the dark look falls from Kate’s face and is replaced by a convincing, if insincere smile. “Great! I’ll see you next weekend then.” Kate steps back, making her way towards the door, turning back at the last minute, “Oh and Stiles, make sure to wear something sexy.” she winks and is gone.

Stiles slides into his seat, surprised to see that The Rolling Stones song is just ending. The confrontation with Kate barely lasting over three minutes. It’s left him, not scared, but well maybe scared. Kate is holding his job over his head, and more than that the station itself, the one place where he fits. He can’t imagine losing it, the place is what makes him feel connected to the music and to the town itself. Being an orphan means he has no family, well except Ruby, but the station has always made him feel like part of something bigger. If Kate can truly take that away...Well it’s just a stupid gala, the only plans he has is the annual scary movie night with Ruby. He can give up one night to DJ the Mayor’s Gala. The only problem is that once Kate has him under his thumb, he just knows there’s going to be no getting out.

Stiles picks up his whiteboard, scribbling out a message and sticking it to the window.  **Do you have a computer?** The answer doesn't come immediately, it takes so long in fact that Stiles thinks the mystery nephew might not be at the window any more at all. Just as he’s about to put the board away a piece of paper is held up across the street.

**I’m not a caveman** , it reads. Surprising a laugh out of the DJ.

**GMAIL?**

Stiles is pretty sure he’s pushed too far when the paper disappears and doesn’t return. He tries not to let it bother him, it’s not like they’re friends, he knows nothing about that guy except that he wears leather and never leaves the house. He distracts himself, trying to come up with the best playlist he can for his shift and reminding his listeners to submit their requests for the last hour. That all takes about forty minutes, and then he’s back to ignoring the weird feeling of hurt and regret. He almost wishes he never asked.

He’s just reaching for a bag of gummibears, his go to comfort food, when he notices the new pop-up in his inbox.

From: DHALE@GMAIL.COM

To: THE_Stiles@GMAIL.COM

Subject: Hi from across the street

Stiles clicks on it so fast the pointer is nothing but a blur. The body of the message is concise, not that he expected anything more. Simply reading:

**Hello,**

** This is awkward, I don’t know what to say, but I set up this account so I guess I should use it. **

** D **

This absolutely should not make Stiles as happy as it does.

  
  
  


**BEFORE**

  
Genim is a little nervous, going back to the city after three years away. His mother’s sudden death along with several others of influenza shortly after the last Feast of Fools they’d attended had kept them away. Their focus had been on rebuilding the tribe and training the younger members to take on more prominent roles as they traveled to more subdued festivals. Now though, Stiles’ father, and now tribe leader, has decided it’s time to travel back to The Feast. It will be Genim’s first visit as the principal dancer.

Of course, it’s not only a touch of stage fright thinking about such a large crowd that he finds himself contending with. No, his mind is drawn to thoughts of Derek.  His best friend, the man who had saved him twice, and who has had no idea where Genim has been these past years.

They roll into the city at midday to a surprising lack of fanfare. By this time the markets should be open, colorful flags flying and singing echoing through the streets advertising the start of The Feast at sundown. There are still flags, but they are few and far between and the peddlers that they do see are more subdued that Genim remembers. Though perhaps it was just the exuberance of youth that lended such flair to his memories.

They park the caravans down a dead end street between a large lumber mill and a waxworks. Both are closed for The Festival, leaving plenty of space to sort the carts and horses. Genim jumps from his place at his fathers side almost before the caravan has even stopped moving.

“Gen!” his father calls. “You be back before the opening!”

“Of course, papa!” Genim waves, making his way quickly to the center of town. He’s not sure how he’ll be received by Derek, but he can only hope he will forgive him when he tells him why he’s been away.

He takes the streets quickly, zigging and zagging through the crowds, but being careful to avoid rushing in to anyone. He does not want a repeat of last time. The Cathedral lies directly ahead, doors open to the masses, though not many enter on festival weekend. He runs up the stairs, sparing only a moment to the thought that Derek may no longer be there before entering.

The Cathedral is as he remembers it, cold with dim light streaming in through the stain colored windowpanes. He makes his way slowly towards the left, trying to avoid being noticed as he makes his way to the staircase. He opens and shuts the door carefully and as silently as possible behind him, taking a moment to look up at the flights of stairs that will lead him to the roof. It feels like both forever and yesterday that he last made the journey. He speeds his way up, running at a fast but steady pace so as not to wear himself out. Of course by the time he reaches the arch of the bell tower he’s still out of breath, he’d defy anyone to climb those stairs without being winded.

It’s quiet on the roof, only the vague sounds of the people in the streets and the wind blowing through the arches make themselves heard. This place too looks different. Where as before Derek would line the roof with carvings and various projects he was working on, now all that’s left seems to be discarded or half finished. Genim makes his way carefully to the small door he knows leads to the Derek’s living quarters.

He’s not sure what to expect as he slowly turns the knob, but as he pushes the door slowly inward he gasps. The room is a shambles, tables filled with scraps of paper and molding food, shelves buckling under the weight of books or broken entirely. He steps further in, only the dim light coming from the fireplace to guide him through the mess. It leaves Genim at a loss. “Who are you? What do you want?” a gravely voice demands, startling Genim back towards the door.

“D-Derek?” He ventures.

“What, did the monks send you?” the voice comes again as a body moves slowly in a chair just outside the light of the fire.

“No, Derek, it’s me.”

“Me who?” Derek growls, “I do not wish for company. If the monks have sent you tell them you could not find me and leave me to my solitude.” That is it, Genim decides, straightening his posture and marching towards the other man.

“Derek, if you do not get out of that chair and greet your best friend properly I will swear to the heavens I will make you regret it!” There is silence for a long while, Derek seemingly shocked at being addressed so, until suddenly he stands.

“Genim?”

“Do you have another best friend I don’t know of?” He breathes, then tenses, “Well I suppose you could be now. I know I’ve been gone a long while, it wasn’t my fault you understand, but I could understand if you’d found someone else to spend your time-ooof!” Genim wheezes and Derek rushes towards him, gathering him up in his arms.

“Genim? Is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me silly, you didn't think I’d abandon you forever did you?”

“I…” Derek’s only response is to hold him tighter, before sitting him back down on the ground. “Just a moment” he insists, taking a long match from beside the fireplace to light, he takes a moment, moving around the room to several candles, bringing the room to a comfortable brightness.

“Derek, what happened?” Genim asks, reaching a hand out as his friend turns to him, his face, having always held one long scar now held another, this one dissecting the other at an angle just a long line that ran over the bridge of his nose to just above his lips, marking the area with an x.

“It’s nothing.” he insists, grabbing his outstretched hand in his own.

“Derek” Genim smiles, bringing his arms around the older man and bringing him forward. The embrace is soft but firm, both unable to get close enough after so long apart. Stiles grasps the fabric of Derek’s cloak, fingers feeling the gnarled lines of his unfortunate shoulder as the other wraps around the man’s waist. “It’s been too long” he croaks, tears prickling behind his eyes.

“Let me look at you” Derek says, leaning back from the embrace, but his hands not leaving the younger’s shoulders. “You’ve grown.” He smiles.

“I’d say I’m as tall as you now” Genim nods.

“Though not as handsome.” Derek teases.

“Never.” Genim agrees, though he knows his friend will take it in jest. To Genim though, Derek is handsome, he always has been, ever since that first day when he caught a ten year old from falling to his death. His body may be damaged some under his thick cloak and he may have some scars, but for the life of him Genim can think of no one who has ever captivated him the way his friend does. “I've missed you.” he says, unable to hold the stare any longer without saying something.

“Where have you been?” Derek asks, letting his hands drop to his sides.

“It’s a long story.” Genim shrugs, “Perhaps I could tell you as we clean this mess.” Derek blushes, but doesn’t looks surprised at Genim calling him on his living arrangements.

“I do not require your help in cleaning my own room.”

Genim raised an eyebrow,” uh huh, okay” he says, bending down to pick up an apple core and tossing it in a nearby bucket. “Lets get started shall we?”

An hour later and the room was cleared, everything broken or rotting thrown into the bucket at Genim’s insistence even when Derek insisted he could fix this item or that. He also threw open the small boarded up windows to let light shine into the room. Derek was looking far too pale, his natural skin tone always something a bit deeper than Genim’s, looking pale and ashen.

“I am sorry about your mother” Derek said as he sat a chair up from where it laid sideways on the floor. “I know how close you were to her.”

“It was...hard.” Genim answered, finding no proper way to describe his grief but time and study had lessened the hurt some to where, though still constant, was less prevalent. “Father is our tribe’s leader now, it took some time to get used to, him not being born to it after all, but our people are happy now, things seem to be almost as they were before.”

“And you’re a dancer now.” Derek smiled.

“The principal dancer actually, I’ll be on the big stage tonight.”

“Tonight?” Derek’s eyes grew wide,”Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure, it’s the first night of The Feast.”

“Must you though?” he asked, laying a well worn blanket over his bed, back to Genim.

“Of course, my tribe always opens The Feast, well not for the last few years obviously, but it is tradition.” Derek remained silent, “Why do you ask?” Derek does not turn to him, “Derek, is there something you’re not telling me?” he asks as we walks over to his friend, grabbing hold of a tense forearm, “What’s wrong?”

“You do not know” his friend says, hands clasping tight to the blanket he’d been setting to right.

“Don’t know what?”

“It’s different now” he says, turning slightly to face Genim, “My uncle he…” Derek’s eyes squeeze closed, his forehead furrowing, “the night I went out…”

“What is it?” Genim asks, moving a hand over his friend’s forehead to ease the lines of stress.

“The night I went out to see you perform” Derek sighs, “My uncle was here when I came back, he said someone had seen a deformed boy square off against a sentinel in the square. He knew it was me of course, the person described my cloak and shoulder.”

“I-is that how you got this?” Genim asks, cupping Derek’s cheek, “is it because I asked you to come? Is this my fault.?”

“What he did is not your fault, it is my own. I knew not to leave.”

“He beat you! He marked your face because of me...Because I was too selfish to accept that you couldn’t come to see my show!” Genim steps back, unworthy to touch his friend after his behavior had lead to his punishment.

“No” Derek growls, grabbing Genim’s hand and bringing it back to his face, “No, I would not have you blame yourself for this. I did nothing I did not wish to do.”

“Derek…” Genim surges forward, unable to help himself. He has thought of Derek often while he was away his humor and his honor and the way he saved him and at times he’s thought of him like this, with his arms around Genim and his lips pressed to his own. Derek does not move at first, still as can be for the count of three before returning the kiss. His lips though broken by a scar are soft and plush against his own, moving slowly to taste.

“I would not have you hurt for the world.” Genim whispers as they part.

“Nor I, you. Which is why I worry about your performance tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Since my uncle caught me his dislike of gypsies have climbed to new heights. As much as it pained me to be without you these last few years, I was almost glad of your absence since it meant you would come to no harm.”

“Derek, the cities have never been friendly to gypsies. Believe me, I know how to handle myself.”

Derek shakes his head, “It’s not as it once was, Genim. It’s not just harsh words or shoves, the sentinels themselves have been known to go after gypsies for no reason other than looking at them askance.”

“Have you forgotten our last meeting? Sentinels have always been unfriendly to my people.”

“It’s not...it’s widespread. Last year an entire camp was nearly killed!”

“Killed?”

“Yes, there was a fire. they claimed that it was caused by an unattended lantern but I heard my uncle talking to one of his men, it was set by a sentinel, at his command.”

“Surely it was just a misunderstanding.” Genim insists but Derek shakes his head once more.

“No, he’s become mad with it, blaming the gypsies for my misbehavior.”

“You really believe a man would kill an entire tribe just because his ward snuck out to attend The Feast?”

“I-I don’t, it’s what I heard.” he sighs.

“I believe you Derek, but perhaps what you heard was taken out of context. No matter a man’s faults I cannot believe he would condemn an entire group of people for one tiny transgression.”

“I only know what I heard, but he has been different. I could not bare it if he hurt you.” Though the topic is serious Genim cannot help but smile, his heart light

“I will be careful” he promises, lifting his lips to Derek’s once more. “I will not lose you now that I’ve just got you back.”

“Please” Derek says, voice rough, “be mindful, that’s all I ask.”

Genim does his best to stay quiet and unobtrusive as he makes his way back to the camp after bidding Derek goodbye for the night. The streets are festive, but as he noticed before, the event seems somehow subdued. Of course it could just be because The Feast hasn’t actually started yet, won’t until Genim gets up to perform. He tries to let it slide, instead focusing on remembering his routine. He’s perfected it over the last couple of years as they’d traveled to smaller events, and now he’s more confident. Melissa says he’s just as good as his mother was, a compliment he plans to live up to as best he can.

His mother was beautiful when she danced, all dark hair and tan skin with big brown eyes. She could enrapture audiences with her dancing. Genim breathes deeply, stepping up into his caravan and shutting the door behind him. He won’t disappoint her tonight, or their tribe. He will make them all proud.

It’s almost dusk as Genim pulls out the garments. He undresses quickly sliding into the loose silk pants. The silk is cobalt blue, loose and smooth hanging down just past his knees where they come together at intricately sewn cuffs. He wraps two colorful scarfs around his hips, one a bright fuschia and the other a delicate green, both having belonged to his mother. The fuchsia one is lined with delicate bells that echo as he moves and will compliment the rhythm of the music when he dances. He pulls on a delicately patterned gold vest over his naked chest and his wardrobe is complete.

“Genim!’ a knock comes at his door, “We need to leave son, or we’re going to be late.”

“One moment papa!” he calls, sitting down before his mirror and quickly lining his eyes with kohl.

“Now!’ his father calls and Genim heaves himself up and out of the caravan to meet his tribe.

The crowd is still as big as he remembers when Genim gets to the stage, he peeks through the well used curtains as the numbers grow and people shuffle for the best view. To the side there have been built a large box, holding seats for the city’s elite. He wonders if the mayor, Derek’s guardian will be among them. Behind him his father and the other musicians are setting up, tuning their instruments and grabbing pillows to make themselves comfortable at the back of the stage.

“You’ll be great.” Genim jumps back as a hand lands on his shoulder, “She would be very proud.” his father says, bringing him in for a hug.

“Thanks, papa.”

“Try not to fret too much, this is nothing you haven’t done a dozen times over.” Genim nods and his father makes his way to take his seat. Scott smiles and waves from his place beside his father, positioning his drum comfortably for the opening number. Genim smiles, too nervous to give his friend more than a brief wave before he moves to the center of the stage and hits his mark.

The music starts up small and light, building as the curtains slide open, the sun has just fallen and the torches lining the stage and surrounding areas light all at once as their singer Lydia begins to belt out a fast paced celebratory song welcoming all comers to The Feast of Fools. The cheers of the crowd seem to multiply as streams of wildly colored confetti burst forward from the stage and Genim begins to dance.

The jig is fast, enrapturing the festival goers and the song is one that’s known well. The audience sings and hoots as Genim makes a circle around the stage being as engaging as possible before throwing himself towards a large pole set at the end of the stage and using it to propel himself around in tight entrancing circles. His bare feet echo against the wood of the stage as he lands back on it to cheers and some inappropriate but expected comments from some of the men at the front. As the first song ends Genim smiles, bowing to the audience and to the city’s elite that sit aside in their box.

Genim waits for a moment, striking a seductive pose in the center of the stage as their chemist Deaton lights several pots around the stage that being to emit colorful smoke. the audience claps delighted as the scene is set and someone yells something that makes Genim blush, but he just winks, waiting for his cue. The music has just begun to sounds when Genim notices a familiar offset shoulder.

He swings around slowly, rolling his shoulders slowly and spinning slowly to the ground as the slow music swells, his torso laying out across the stage, as if he’s been struck down before slowly raising his chest up, arms opening one at a time and reaching out to his sides. Genim takes the opportunity to find the familiar silhouette, he can see him, standing a row back from the stage towards the right corner, he smirks and winks before bending himself backwards, spine arching and hips up. the music begins to build tempo and Genim smiles as he reaches back, legs coming forward and flips himself delicately over, landing on his feet to loud applause.

The music continues to build lead by his father’s fiddle and Genim lets his body move gracefully through the colorful smoke, keeping an eye on Derek’s still form. His soul seems alight knowing Derek is there, watching him dance. His turns are sharper, the movement of his hips more sinuous and his tumbling more precise as his tribe guides him along with their music. The song is about love, about the first blushes of lust and then the fast descent into all consuming want. His steps are slow as the song crashes and builds, his hands rotate at the wrist as his hands come up showing off his torso as he steps up the stage, turning and rolling his hips. If his body seems drawn more to the right of the stage than usual, well the audience doesn’t know the difference.

The song ends and Genim drops to the floor listening to the thunderous applause. His breathing is heavy but he’s graceful as his father comes forward, offering him a hand up.

“It’s that time once again!” His father cheers, a festival mask in place over his face, “To crown this year’s King of Fools!” The crowd cheers loudly and rest of the tribe makes their ways from the wings of the stage.

“Come on! Come all!” they sing, and Genim steps forward to the center to join in the song. “Come one, come all! Close the churches and the schools, It's the day for breaking rules” Genim skips up the stage waving one of his colorful sashes as he spins and sings, “Come and join the feast of...Fools!” The crowd parts as the tribe joins the audience, dancing and handing out flowers and ribbons as they continue to sing. “Once a year we throw a party here in town,

once a year we turn all the city upside down, Every man's a king and every king's a clown

Once again it's topsy turvy day!”  Genim laughs as two of his tribe lift him up on his shoulders so he can step up onto the ledge of the boxes the Mayor and other elite sit in.

“Look at this disgusting display” he hears the mayor say, as he dances down the ledge stopping to wink at him, no one in Genim’s opinion should be grumpy during The Feast of Fools. He looks down as he comes to the edge of the ledge, putting him just above Derek who he can see making small worried aborted movements below.

“Catch me, love!” He laughs stepping off the edge as the well to do behind him gasp in shock. It’s not a long fall but far enough that if Derek hadn’t have caught him in his capable arms, he would most certainly be injured. “Hi” he whispers, looking up into Derek’s unamused eyes and surging forward to give him a quick kiss. “ It's the day the devil in us gets released” Genim sings, hoping out of his love’s arms, “It's the day we mock the prig and shock the priest!” he dances back towards the stage, keeping hold of one of Derek’s hands.

“Gen…” Derek scolds, trying to take his hand back, but Genim will not relent, he’s having too much fun, his tribe is all around him, the audience is loving every minute of the celebration and the only thing that can make it better is to have Derek by his side. “Everything is topsy turvy at the Feast of Fools!” Genim laughs reaching out for the hands that his father and Scott lower to him and flinging himself back on stage with a wild spin mid-air.

Derek lands behind him, less elegantly but a solid weight against his back that makes Genim smile. “Here hold this” he says, handing Derek the corner of a large embroidered but solid tarp.

“What?” Derek asks, but takes it nonetheless, only noticing briefly that three other tribe members hold the other corners before Genim jumps into the center.

“Pull it tight!” he yells, and when Derek does so do the others and Genim is sent high into the air. He laughs flipping in midair as crowd continues to sing. he lands easily, being heaved up into the air again almost immediately, this time whipping his scarves around as he spins. “Topsy turvy!

Everything is upsy daysy!” Genim goes up and down tumbling and smiling as the singing continues. He only realizes something is wrong when he hears a scream and instead of landing on the soft material of the tarp he lands hard on the stage, his body rolling to a rough stop.

“Gen!” Derek calls, as he climbs to his feet, shaking his head to clear the dizziness from the sudden stop. The crowds around him are silent and still looking off to Genim’s right and as he follows their gaze he understands why. Several sentinels are on stage, one has Derek by the neck, his hood having fallen back from his scared face.

“Derek!” Genim yells, surging forward to help him, only to be caught by a strong arm around his torso. he struggles for a moment, only stopping when he realizes it’s his father that’s grabbed him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” His father asks, sliding off his mask and holding tight to his son.

“Well” a voice calls from behind the sentinel, walking slowly but commanding up on to the stage. It’s the mayor, “you see, the sentinels and I have decided that we can no longer have you and your kind disrupting the peace of our city. You on the other hand have not taken a hint despite the more strict punishments over the past years.” He says to Derek, before turning back to the gathering as a whole, “You and your kind continue to be a nuisance each year with this Feast,  your acts or petty thievery and debauchery infect this city like a disease. So you see, I believe what we have here is an impasse. “

“To be at an impasse, I’m pretty sure both sides have to have a say.” Genim says.

“Smart boy” The Mayor smirks, stepping towards Genim.

“Uncle, please…”

“Silence!” a loud smack echoes through the silent square as The Mayor’s gloved hand lands across Derek’s face, leaving a trail of blood from his mouth.

“Don’t touch him!” Genim yells, struggling against his father’s hold.

“Quiet Genim” His father says, handing his son back to Scott and Deaton as he stands between him and the mayor. “What is it that you want from us?”

“Oh I should think that was obvious.” The sinister man smiles, “I want you contained, like the infestation that you are. As I see it there’s only one way to deal with vermin, burn it out.”

The scene turns to chaos immediately, fire setting the stage alight and the crowd running away in a panic. The sentinels grab the nearest gypsies they can, knocking them away or into the arms of other’s waiting to take them. Genim only has eyes for Derek though who is struggling against the hold of two sentinels as they drag him away from the stage and out of sight. “Come Genim, we have to go, now!” his father says, pulling his son back the opposite way of the soldiers.

“No! I’ll not leave him!” he yells, pushing away and rushing through the chaos to where he last saw Derek.  His father yells after him but Genim cannot bear the idea of leaving Derek to be hurt again, not at his uncle’s hands and not because of him.

The square is utter confusion, fire and swarms of people rushing for safety while sentinels force gypsies into waiting cart or simply slice through those resisting. Most resist. Genim’s eyes fill with tears as he turns to a scream only to see Lydia fall motionless to the ground.  He can only hope his father and Melissa are getting Scott out.

“No!” he hears Derek roar and turns just in time to see the sentinels forcing him down a small alleyway. Genim runs, ducking past fleeing citizens and turning into the alley without a moment’s hesitation, skidding to a stop when he sees Derek on the ground before the soldiers. He has nothing to defend himself with, but he needs to help, cannot let Derek come to any more harm because of him. He grabs at a length of rope on the ground, finding a large stone near it and quietly ties it to the end. It will have to do.

“What should we do with him?” one of the soldiers asks, “He’s been not but trouble for the mayor since he took up with that gyp, might do him a favor getting rid of him. Hell we might even get a promotion.” Genim swings his rope, the large stone hitting it’s mark, crashing into the back fo the man’s skull. He’s down before the other even knows what’s happened.

“Step away from him.” he says, swinging the rope at his side, ready to lash out again if need be.

“Here to save this freak, are you?”

“I said, step. away.”

“I don’t think I will” the soldier smirks, grabbing his sword from the scabbard at his side.

“Bad decision” Genim smirks as the man is forcibly turned around and a large fist crashes across his face once, twice and three times and then the man is down, unconscious, Derek standing where he’d been, breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” Genim asks, rushing to his friend’s side.

“I’m fine.” Derek breathes, looking up into Genim’s eyes and cupping his jaw with one warm hand. “Are you- were you hurt?”

“No, no” Genim shakes his head, “it was just a fall, nothing I haven’t had before.”

“You should be more careful.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Derek sighs, shaking his head until Genim pulls him into a soft kiss. “I am glad you are alright.”

“You there!” a voice booms down the alley.

“Run, we need to get out of here” Genim says, grabbing Derek’s hand and leading them further down the alley, away from the soldier.

They stick to the shadows, stopping for silent minutes as sentinels pass or clash with others. They have to make it back to his tribe, once they’re together they can figure a way out of the city to safety. When the mayor passes Derek tenses at his side, breath coming in short pants, but Genim only hold tighter to his hand until he disappears from view.

The scene when he reaches the place they’d parked their caravans in is devastating. There are bodies, oh so much more than Genim can bare to count and his home, the caravan he’d grown up in with his mother is nothing but dark ashen wood. It’s nearing morning the sun just reaching the horizon and Genim is frozen. He feels as if his whole life is gone. He sees Deaton among the bodies, his hand clenched tight around a sword they often used as a prop, dull enough for children not to cut themselves on, and then...oh no..

“Melissa!” He calls, running to her form and falling to his knees at her side, “no no no” he chants, turning her onto her back and brushing her thick curling hair from her eyes, “please no.” he sobs. There’s a gash across her neck, blood congealed but wet, and her open eyes sightless as he stares up at him. “No!”  arms come around him from behind, one higher than the other, Derek then. He doesn’t speak, but slowly pries Genim away.

It takes them two hours to make their way out of the city, it takes two days before Genim will speak again.

  
  


**NOW**

Mayor Mills’ Halloween gala is a masquerade, because of course it is. Stiles sighs, hating that Allison was so proud of him for taking initiative and getting out there for the station, making it so that Stiles couldn't bare to tell her that her crazy aunt basically strong-armed him into it. He clicks shut the informational email from Mayor Mills’ office and leans back in his chair. At least his has Lily Allen’s snarky lyrics playing overhead to help dull the pain.

**DHale:** I can’t take much more of this Brit chick set.

Stiles scoffs as the mysterious D’s message pops up on screen because the man is obviously a heathen. Who doesn’t like smart snarky brit chick pop? Who? Heathens that’s who. Chloe Howl, Lily Allen, Lady Sovereign, they were all getting him through this morning.

**THE_Stiles:** Do not hate on the ladies. Their sarcasm is the only thing making my morning not entirely suck.

**DHale:** That bad?

Stiles looks to the pile of broken parts beside him before turning back to the screen.

**THE_Stiles:** The coffee machine is broken. I weep for my listeners. They are at the will of an uncaffeinated morning host.

**DHale:** How will we survive?

 **THE_Stiles:** I wish I knew buddy, but I’ve been contemplating playing something by Lady Gaga for the last hour.

 **DHale:** Disco Stick?

 **THE_Stiles:** Ha! Even I am not gay enough to get away with playing that at 10am.

Stiles almost doesn't send it. He’s never brought up his sexuality before. They’ve been talking for almost two weeks and Stiles would love to say that getting to know the mysterious mechanic from across the street has lessened his curiosity, but if he said that he would be a complete and total liar. D is funny. It’s not right, it’s not fair. First the guy made requests via paper in windows, which is cuter than it has any right to be, and the requests were for good music. Then he fixes Stiles’ baby and now, now it turns out he’s funny? And not just funny, oh no Stiles should be so lucky, he’s witty and snarky and able to keep up with Stiles’ sarcasm. He is so out of his depth here.

The last date he went on was with Dr. Whale three months ago and that had only lasted until Stiles could call for the check. It had been great to find that the doc was not discerning when it came to the gender of his dates, it was somewhat less attractive that his eyes tended to constantly wander to the nearest attractive backside on display. Whale had been lucky to escape with his manhood intact when Ruby, who was acting as their waitress, noticed what was going on. (He should have listened to Mary Margaret when she tried to warn him off.) That had been just the latest in a line of disastrous attempts to “get out there.” So yeah, Stiles hasn’t had much luck in the whole dating department.

It was safe when he and D were just passing notes across the street. It was interesting more than anything, dealing with the recluse across the street, but then Stiles talked to him in person when he needed his jeep fixed, and even though it was only a few words, the man peaked his curiosity. So of course Stiles just had to suggest they talk over chat, what could go wrong?

**DHale:** You okay? You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm.

Stiles shot up from his seat looking across the street but seeing no sign of D.

** THE_S ** **tiles:** Are you watching me?

**DHALE:** Yep.

 **THE_Stiles:** You know that’s kind of creepy right?

 **DHALE:** I like to think of it as doing my part for the town of Storybrooke.

 **DHALE:** If you can do that type of damage to a coffee machine, I can’t imagine the damage your under caffeinated brain will wreak next.

 **THE_Stiles** : haha, he’s a comedian.

Stiles smiled before turning around to queue up the next song as the microphone came back on in the studio. “That was  [Disappointed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nr36VE92q_4) by the lovely Chloe Howl, and at the request of a mysterious fan with horrible taste in music, that will conclude my little mini-set of female British artists. Today is Wednesday and that means only two more days until the Halloween carnival here in Storybrooke, and of course the Mayor’s Charity Gala where yours truly will be spinning the tunes, so make sure to get your tickets early.This year’s proceeds are all going to the Children’s ward of Storybrooke hospital. So be there or hate children. Here’s Belle and Sebastian with  [The Party Line](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vS1Hf3CVGs) .”

Stiles isn't sure if D jinxed him or if the world is just cosmically out to screw him today but two minutes past the two o’clock hour the station goes down. There’s dead air right in the middle of Jack White singing about being alone in his home.

“What the fuck?” Stiles stands up, looking around to see if he’s unplugged something but he hasn't everything looks like it’s functioning correctly, he can see the song progressing on his computer screen but no sound is coming through the speakers. He’s standing in the middle of the room completely lost when Alison runs in from her office.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, I was just sitting here adding a couple songs to my playlist when the whole thing just went dead. Do you think it’s the transmitter?”

“It’s hard to tell, I’m not really mechanically inclined, you stay here and I’ll run down to the tower to check it out.”

“Okay, I’ll...try not to touch anything.”

“Good idea” Allison smiles letting him know she trusts him. “Call me if things come back online while I’m out.”

“Will do” he says, giving her a little salute as she leaves the station and hops into her car.

The tower is about a ten minute drive from the station, he hopes that’s the problem. This has never happened before and Stiles’ specialty is definitely not technology, unless you count music downloading and running anti-virus before he looks at porn. Neither of which he’s sure will help in this situation.

They've already lost ten minutes of airtime, which isn't so bad, there will be commercials to reschedule and such, but he that he can deal with. If it goes much longer though he may start freaking out. Normally he’d just call Danny, the man is a whiz with computers but he’s off in the woods camping with his boyfriend Ethan, the world is not fair. Stiles breathes deeply, trying to tell himself that he did not just somehow destroy the station, flinching back slightly when the door to his side bursts open and a tall hooded figure strides quickly into the room.

“Did you hear a pop?” The hooded man asks, getting down on his knees to look over the control panel.

“D?” Stiles asks, because it has to be, but he can’t get his head around the fact that he’s truly here.

“Stiles, did you hear a pop before you went of the air?” He asks again, pulling out a set of delicate looking tools from the box Stiles only now notices he was carrying.

“Uh, yeah, yeah I think so.” Derek doesn't respond, but suddenly, he’s lifting up the control panel to reveal an intricate series of wires and other parts that Stiles is becoming really alarmed about. “Are you uh, sure you should be doing that?” D grunts and it is not as reassuring as he’s sure it was meant to be.

“Looks like the primary audio circuit burnt out from the connection.”

“Sure, yeah…”Stiles has no idea what that means, “Can you fix-” suddenly the audio flows over the speakers, a gentle rhythm of something Stiles had queued up earlier. “You did it!” Stiles cheers, raising his hands in victory.

“It just a minor patch, you’ll have to have someone with the right equipment come in eventually.” D responds, slowly standing up and turning to Stiles with his tool box in hand.

“You are amazing!” Stiles can’t help but reach out and pull the bigger man in to a hug. D is tense, back ramrod straight and it suddenly occurs to him that a man who never leaves the house is probably not so big on touching, which is why he’s a little shocked when he chuckles quietly and wraps his arms around Stiles in return.

“Really, thank you.” Stiles says, as he backs away.

“It was nothing.” he says, turning slightly away so that Stiles is unable to look under the deep hood of his sweatshirt.

“It wasn't nothing, man. This place is my life and it’s come to my attention lately that we’re not overly flush with cash. I don’t want to think about what we’d have to payout if a ton of sponsorship ads got missed because we were off the air.”

“I thought you were a public station?”

“We are to a point, the town pays for about half of our operating budget, the rest comes from sponsorship ads and events and it’s a small town, you know?” D nods but doesn’t answer. “You’re a real life-saver.”

“Anytime.” D raises his hand, stalling for a second before letting the large hand come the rest of the way up to offer a shake. Stiles doesn't hesitate to take it. He can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since someone really touched D, and as the powerful hand cups his own he can’t help wonder about other kinds of touching. He can feel himself blush, the heat rising in his cheeks and chest making them splotchy and unattractive, but D’s head just tilts to the side. Stiles has no doubt that if he was able to see his face, D would be smirking.

“So... you’re out of the house.”

D’s hood moves from side to side looking around the room, “Am I? I hadn't noticed.”

“Haha” Stiles rolls his eyes, “You have any plans to make this a more regular thing maybe?”

“What?”

“Well it’s just, there’s this gala thing that I have to DJ.”

“I know.”

“Of course you know, you’re my most avid listener. The thing is right now I’m kind of going stag, you know? Not fun in high school, really not fun now when you’re at the age when everyone is asking when you’re going to settle down.”

“Stiles…”

“I mean, I know you’re really not comfortable outside, but it’s a masquerade, yeah? you can wear a mask and no one will know it’s you but me.”

“I don’t-”

“And okay, so we haven’t really acknowledged all the flirting we've been doing through the windows and now through Gchat, but this seems like a gesture, you being here, so I just thought you might like to go with me.”

D is silent for a long moment, still and gripping his tool box tightly before, “I-I can’t” Oh Stiles thinks, because of course he’s got this all wrong, he’s gone and humiliated himself in front of D and now he’s probably ruined the tentative friendship they've been building. Shit.

The studio suddenly goes silent again and Stiles hops into his chair, taking the mic in hand “Sorry about that folks, seems like we've had some technical difficulties, but thanks to some engineering wizardry we’re back with you.” outside he can see D making his way back across the street, shoulders high and head bowed forward, “why don’t I start us off with ‘[Don’t Swallow The Cap’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFnA-8H-5lo) by The National.” The song’s intro rises over the air and Stiles tries not to berate himself for his stupidity. When Matt Berninger sings “I have only two emotions, careful fear and dead devotion.” Stiles most definitely does not relate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all enjoying the story so far, feel free to leave comments to kudos if you like.
> 
> The Song Topsy Turvy taken from Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame


	3. The Third

**BEFORE**

****  
The journey from the city is hard, Genim has no shoes and is still clad in the vest and light silk pants he’d worn for the festival. Derek for his part, is not used to the amount of physical activity. He’s always climbed the cathedral but it’s vastly different from hiking night and day through the woods surrounding the town. **  
**

They stop at nightfall each day, huddling around the meager fires they can pull together with kindling. They sleep pressed close together, Derek’s strong arms around Genim’s waist and his face hidden in his neck. Genim comforts himself with the feeling of breath on his nape and the knowledge that he at least still has Derek.

They don’t talk about what may have happened to Genim’s father or the rest of his tribe. Derek only asks where they’re going once and Genim responds “The Court of Miracles.”  He’s told Derek about it before, The Court is a haven for his people, any gypsy worth their salt knows it lies in the Great Northern Woods and is a place where they say anything lost can be found. It’s a five days journey by horse, several more on foot.

Genim is walking along the side of a river, gray pebbles rolling smoothly below his booth and a small waterfall not too far behind him when Derek calls to him, “Don’t move.” Genim knowing the serious tone in his voice, stills immediately only looking up from his feet when he hears something rustling ahead of them.

Genim turns and his heart stills, it’s wolves. A small pack, three or four at the most but Derek is too close, and their eyes are trained on him. They must have stumbled across a hunting party without even realizing it. “Get back” Derek whispers, trying to move as little as possible.

“I am not leaving you, you idiot.” Genim says, reaching out his arm to grab onto Derek’s cloak.

“No” Derek shrugs off his hold, “They’re focused on me, you need to get back while you can.

“Don’t be ridiculous, take my hand, we just need to run quickly.”

“No, if we run they’ll chase us” Derek seethes, looking up into Genim’s face, “I will not lose y-”he slips suddenly, his right leg loosing it’s place where it’s been precariously balanced on the pebbled beach. The wolves growl, shoulders hunching higher as they watch Derek scamper back to his feet. He steps back in front of Genim who at this point also has the animal’s attention.

“If you die, I will kill you.” Stiles sneers, taking a step back and looking around for anything that will aid him in getting himself and the incredibly stupid love of his life out of their current situation. he can only assume they’d done something very wrong in a past life to be dealing with so many life threatening situations in the past few days. The only thing on hand are some fallen branches, he grabs them hoping, pretty pointlessly he feels, that they’ll be sharp enough to do some damage should the pack attack.

“Here” he says, leaning over and handing a long but sturdy branch to Derek, Derek looks suspicious but doesn’t seem to have any better ideas so he grabs the makeshift weapon.

Genim looks back up at the wolves, and by god if he didn’t know better he would think they were laughing at them. Their heads are tilted to the side as if trying to figure out their plan but they mouths are wide open, pink tongues wagging in amusement. Yes, that definitely looks like smug laughter to Genim. It’s odd that the wolves haven’t attacked yet, humans coming across large packs like this are often attacked, injured or worse, and yet despite the growling earlier these animals seems to have little interest in lunging for their throats.

They stand still for several minutes, as Derek continues to stand between Genim and wolves and the wolves themselves fluctuate between curiosity and aggressive posturing, Eventually a loud howl goes up from deeper in the woods and the wolves scatter towards it, leaving the bewildered pair behind By the end they’re both breathing hard and when Derek finally turns back towards him, Genim is furious.

“You moron!” he yells, beating his fist against Derek’s chest. “What were you thinking, not taking my hand?! You could have died you self-sacrificing piece of-” Derek smothers his words with his lips, his palm sliding up his cheek to soothe him, but Genim resists, “If you think you can just-” Derek reaches out again, drawing Genim’s body to his own and brushing his tongue against the younger man’s lips. Genim responds all at once, leaning forward more securely and biting on at Derek’s bottom lip,hungry and needy for the taste. “I can’t” he murmurs, dragging his hands through Derek’s hair, “I can’t…” Derek seems to understand because he lets Genim have control, lets him bite and kiss and lick at his mouth until both their mouths are sensitive and red.

That night is the first time he sees Derek’s body. By the light of the campfire Genim lays Derek down, slowly stripping away the cloak he’s always worn, “Wait” Derek says, catching Genim’s hand as he goes to pull it away, “What-I’m not...You won’t like…” Genim only shakes his head, “I adore you, you idiot” he says, bringing his hands beneath the cloak and parting it with his hands until it falls to the earth below him.

Derek’s never really talked about his body, there had been a time or two when they were younger that Genim had asked but Derek had always just shrugged and said that he didn’t remember what happened. When Genim peels back the threadbare fabric of the shirt beneath he can see his friend clearly for the first time. The left side of his chest appears relatively normal, firm shoulder leading down tapered arms, Stiles leans down and kisses Derek again, closing his eyes briefly before pulling back and trailing his fingers down over his chest. the skin is taught and firm, muscles well defined from the climbing Derek has always done. He kisses his pectoral, continuing his exploration onto the side that Derek didn’t want him to see, the side he’s hid from him always.

His right side is completely different than the perfection sculpted on the left, but is no less Derek. his chest is caved in slightly, his ribs an odd boxy shape that creates angles where there ought to be smooth lines, above it, his shoulder is hunched up, either pushed there by the off angle of the ribs of from a separate injury he’s not sure, but the muscle there is bunched leaving dips and valley along his collarbone that Genim traces without hesitation.

“Gen” Derek sighs, shying away as fingertips float over sensitive skin.

“Shh” Genim soothes, “Just let me look at you.” Derek lays silently, if not comfortably, as Genim continues running his hands down from his shoulder and under his ribs to his stomach where things become straight and strong again. “You’re beautiful Derek.” There are tears in Derek’s eyes when he looks up and his head is turned just slightly so that he’s not looking at Genim. He can only imagine the names he’s been called, just remembering the things his uncle had called him the day he hid in the shadows makes him burn with anger. He’s so much more than his body, he’s strong and selfless and just as Genim had said, beautiful.

“Der, please look at me.” Derek sighs but turns, “Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you feel about this part of you” he says, laying a hand over the uneven side of his chest, “it is part of you, and there is no part of you that I have  not loved since I was ten years old.”

Genim sits back as Derek surges up, clutching his sides and bringing his lips forward into a hungry kiss. The light of the fire paints Derek’s skin gold as his shirt falls away completely puddling on the ground behind him. Genim plants himself firmly over Derek’s thighs, anchoring him and wrapping his arms around the older man’s neck as Derek slips his tongue along his bottom lip begging for entrance. Genim meets it with his own, an obscene moan crawling echoing from his throat. He’s never been this close to another, locked in embrace as one of Derek’s hands grip his hip and the other grips his hair tight in clutched fingers. “Gen” Derek moans, and he loves it, loves the nickname and the breathy voice that speaks it into his mouth.

“Please, please...” Genim begs, though he’s not sure what for. He just knows that he wants more. Derek seems to understand as always, pushing back and breaking the kiss just long enough to strip Genim of his vest. “These clothes” he says, leaning in to kiss him again as his hands continue to work at untying the scarves around his waist, “your skin, wanted to taste it so bad.” Genim groans, leaning back to allow Derek more room to work the fabric off. the colorful sashes are thrown off into the shadows as Derek releases them.

“Wait” Genim stills Derek’s hands as they reach for the silk of his pants.

“I’m sorry” Derek says, shamefaced as if he expects Genim to reject him now.

“No” Genim ducks into to kiss him, “No, I just, I want to try something. Is that alright?” Derek looks up at him and nods slowly. “Lay back for me.” Derek does so without complaint, resting his head on his discarded cloak. Genim wastes no time, leaning down to kiss softly before he begins to lick at the trail of hair below Derek’s navel. He’s thought about what he’s about to do a lot. Mostly in regards to Derek himself, a adolescent boys dreams ending in a sticky mess, but now he has the chance to experience it in reality. He wants it to be good for Derek, he wants him to feel how much Genim wants him.

With deft fingers Genim pops the first button of Derek’s trousers, the well used fabric giving way easily to a gentle touch. The second comes just as easily, followed by the third and fourth until the fly is laid open and parting obscenely over the hardening length below the fabric. Genim palms him gently, looking up as Derek bucks into his hand, looking for permission. Derek nods, pupils blown and genim can’t keep the smirk from his face as he reaches into Derek’s pants and frees his cock. “Perfect” Genim breathes over the hot skin, causing the organ to pulse and let loose a stream of pre-cum. He licks slowly down the shaft, the skin below hardening to it’s full impressive length.

“Gen, shit, your mouth, always your mouth.” Derek swears above him as Genim slides down taking as much of his cock into his mouth as he can. He’s long and wide and the corners of his mouth stretch as he bobs his head up and down licking and sucking until saliva drips from his chin. He tastes musky and salty and Genim loves it every bit as much as he thought he would. Above him Derek is whispering a stream of words that Genim can’t make out but when his tongue runs over the head and along his slit he moans, his hip coming off the ground and sliding his wet cock deeper into Genim’s throat.

“Do” Genim pants sliding off for a moment, “Do that again.” Derek whines as Genim slips back down on his leaking cock. He starts thrusting forward slowly, and Genim can’t help running his free hand down and into his own pants, grasping his length and jacking himself in time to Derek’s motions. He moans around Derek’s cock feeling his eyes roll back in his head from the pleasure of Derek in his mouth and his hand around his cock. Above him Derek stills and then suddenly there’s a hand in his hair, holding his head still as Derek uses his mouth thrusting up and down with abandon.

They don’t last much longer after that, Derek coming first, down Genim's throat, the younger taking as much as he can before crawling up his lover’s body and kissing him as he jacks himself, once, twice and third time before coming across Derek’s bare chest.

As uncertain as their lives are right then, Genim has never been more at peace than laying on his side, kissing Derek as they both come down from their orgasms.

The next day they pass a small but prosperous village.Genim sneaks in while Derek waits in the woods, taking a cloak from a wash line and pair of boots from the stoop of someone’s house. He feels a little guilty but ultimately knows with the traveling they have to do that he needs the items more than those he’s taking from. Derek holds fast to Genim’s hand when he returns.

 

** NOW: **

****  
Stiles feels ridiculous. He has half an hour until he has to be at City Hall for the gala and this is what Ruby brought him. **  
**

“Don’t be silly” she says, looking over Stiles’ should in the mirror, “You look fabulous.” he looks himself over again. It’s a masquerade so obviously Stiles knew there were going to be costumes, and when Ruby offered to help him out, he didn’t see the harm. Now he’s beginning to see his mistake.

“What am I even supposed to be?”

“Don’t be dense,” she said motioning to the long red cape draping over his shoulders, “You’re Little Red Riding Hood, obviously.”

“Rubes” he begins turning to his friend, “You do know that being gay doesn’t actually make me a woman, right? I mean why don’t you just dress me up as Dorothee and be done with it.”

“Hey!” She says, pointing a wickedly painted finger in his direction, “You know that I would never make that assumption, I am your best friend. Don’t get twisted. It’s called gender-swap and you work it.”

Stiles could admit that that there was something appealing he supposed, the black tight jeans clung to his legs and a black shirt showed off his musculature. Even the red cape draped around the top of his torso and down his back a la Thor in an enticing way. So he didn’t look horrible, even if the hood was a bit much and reminded him in an uncomfortable way of a person he was trying hard not to think about.

“You are going to knock them dead, Stilinski.” Ruby nodded as she places a simple black mask over his eyes, the surface highlighted with red filigree. Stiles just nodded, there was no arguing with Ruby anyway.

It’s been two days since Stiles embarrassed himself in front of D and he hasn’t heard from him since. Of course that could be because Stiles is a complete chicken and refused to even sign on to gmail in the event that there were messages from D explaining that while Stiles was nice, D was just there for the song requests and some light conversation. It’s just something he cannot deal with. Not right now. Stiles turned away from the mirror with a sigh, trying to put D out of his mind. He could drink himself into the booze coma of the eternally single after he got the gala out of the way.

“So do I meet your approval? Can I go now?”

“Yes” Ruby nods, smiling like a proud big sister sending her little brother off to prom. “Oh except wait, one thing!” She says, digging into the bag at her side and taking out a large metal pin, “Here you go, perfect.”The large golden wolf pin holds his cape in place over his shoulder and makes the outfit really come together. Stiles wants to hate it, he kind of loves it.

“Okay, okay, you’ve had your dress-up Stiles time, now I have to go or I’m going to be late.”

“Fine” Ruby sighs, leading him out of her apartment above the dinner and out onto the street. “Please tell me you did not ride that thing here.”

“What?” Stiles smirks grabbing his longboard from where it’s sitting against the fence.

“You can’t ride to the Mayor Mill’s gala on your skateboard.”

“Think I can” he smirks. “You gave me a red cape and everything, I’m going to look like a superhero.”

“You’re a moron.”

“Love you too” Stiles laughs, pecking her on the cheek and pushing off on his board. City Hall is only a few blocks away and his equipment is already there and set up courtesy of Allison. (The woman was way too excited for community outreach.)  

He passes the station on his way and can’t help looking over at the mechanic’s, wishing for a moment he could take back the invite as a rush of embarrassment paints his cheeks red. for the life of him though, he can’t figure out where he got it wrong. The chatting and windows and him coming out of hiding to get the station on the air….It all seemed to be mean something,but obviously, it was just Stiles’ active imagination. D had made that much clear when he’d turned him down and ran as fast as he could back across the street. Stiles sighs, turning the last corner and coming to a stop outside of City Hall, only getting a few curious glances as he flips his board up from the sidewalk and takes it in his hand. No doubt most of the town is used to seeing him rolling around Storybrooke at this point.

The decorations inside City Hall are lavish, cream silks mixed with oranges and reds, bringing the fall theme to the forefront and accented with pumpkins and a large cornucopia in the center of the banquet table. The ballroom is set off to the side equally impressive with colorful leaves and fake, or at least Stiles assumes they’re fake, trees creating an impressive canopy with their limbs. Lanterns hang from their bows, lit with candles and the soft glow they emit sets the scene so perfectly that Stiles almost feels as if he has walked into some sort fairytale.  

It isn’t hard to find the DJ booth, it is set in the far corner, the front draped with silk and fall decor but thankfully nothing laying too close to his equipment. The last thing he needs is something getting stuck in the mixing board while DJing for the town’s elite. He sets his longboard underneath the table and pulls up the rolling stool someone has been thoughtful enough to provide. He has a playlist already created for the event, but he liked to do his mixing and transitions by hand when doing anything live, that way if he can feel the crowd isn’t quite into the music he can mix it up with a faster or slower song without messing with the flow.

“Mr. Stilinski, I presume.” Stiles looks up to see Mayor Mills standing in front of his station. Her hair is pulled back into a tight but elegant updo, her dress green and beaded and she holds a mask in her expensively manicured hands. She looks severe as ever. The mayor is not really known for her approachable demeanor and here she is with her eyes set on him. Yaye...

“Uh, yeah, yep, I’m Stiles Stilinski.” He stumbles, reaching his hand out to shake. The mayor only raises a superior eyebrow until Stiles lowers it again.

“I hope you know, Mr. Stilinski, that the only reason you’re here is because my son Henry requested it. I wanted the string quartet we usually order in, but he wouldn’t be swayed, said your show was the absolute best.”

“Well I-”

“What that means for you, of course, is that any failure on your part will be very disappointing to me, and as such might make me rethink the amount of money in the town’s budget for fledgling enterprises such as yours. Are we clear?”

“Crystal” Stiles answers, a pit growing in his stomach.

“Very good.” Mayor Mills nods, “the guests will be arriving shortly, I suggest you find something welcoming to play.” Her heels clack across the wooden floor as she exits the ballroom towards the front door of City Hall, and Stiles can only breathe deeply again when she is fully out of sight. Great, just how he was hoping to start the night. He quickly starts up the computer system, and begins delving into his playlists for the welcome/dinner music. It takes only a moment for Damien Rice to start out over the speakers, he used a lot of strings on the latest album, hopefully that will garner him some brownie points with the scary mayor.

Dinner goes fine, there are speeches and canapes and enough liquor to relax even the most surly of curmudgeons. Stiles keeps the music light and airy, building slowly as more people get done with their meals and start socializing closer to the dancefloor. Henry waves from his place at his mother’s side and Stiles waves back quickly, not wanted to catch the mayor’s attention again.

At 9pm exactly the dancing starts, mostly younger members of the crowd dragging their significant others out to the sounds of Tegan and Sara singing about getting  [closer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9e9NSMY8QiQ) . By the fifth song or so though, most of the crowd is dancing, the crowd’s masquerade masks largely being discarded as the heat on the floor rises. Though there are some lone hangouts that seem to be happy with playing the wallflowers.

It takes him an hour or so to spot the wolf. He’s hanging back in the corner across from the one Stiles and his equipment has claimed and there’s something about him that just calls for his attention. He’s not sure what it is at first. The Wolf seems like every other party goer, smartly dressed with a mask, but Stiles catches his eyes drifting up and down the man, sparing a moment for his strong hands and trim waist, lingering over the build of his chest beneath the white dress shirt, view only obstructed by a black tie. His strong shoulder draw him in even further, tracing the shapes of the rounded muscle under...under leather. That’s what’s different, the man isn’t in a suit coat or some other costumed element, he’s wearing a leather jacket, the collar coming up to rest softly just under the edge of the wolf mask he’s wearing.

“Hello Stiles” Stiles turns quickly as Kate calls his attention.

“Hey there Kate.” He winces, if there was one person he was hoping to avoid tonight, “Enjoying the party?” She nods and smiles sweetly in her dark purple and gold dress, it looks like she’s supposed to be a jester, but without a hat or mask it’s hard to tell. Whatever the case her creepy smile is there in full force.

“I just wanted to stop by and say how well I think you’re doing, everyone really seems to be enjoying the music.”

“Sure thing.” He chuffs, lowering a bar on his board and raising another as a song transitions, hoping that she’ll move along. No such luck.

“You’ll save me a dance won’t you?” she leers, and gross, has anyone actually ever fallen for this?

“Uh, sorry my dance card is all full up.”

“Really? I don’t think I’ve seen you dance all night.”

“Well, as you so kindly saw to it, I am the DJ, not a lot of time to socialize.”

“Surely, you could be spared for one dance.”

“Sorry” Stiles can only hope the expression on his face looks genuine, “but like I said, I promised my boyfriend that I’d take any break I had with him.”

“Ha!” She laughs, “boyfriend? You? I think I would have heard if someone finally decided to…”

“Stiles, are you ready?” A voice says from beside him, Stiles turns to see The Wolf standing beside his desk. “You did promise me a dance, nearly an hour ago.”

“Oh!” Stiles says, catching on to the save The Wolf is offering him like a lifeline. “Yeah of course, just let me set this next set up.” Stiles switches a few toggles ensuring the next three songs will be automatically played and steps away, taking his savior’s hand. “Sorry Kate, but like I said, I’m spoken for.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise when The Wolf leads him to the dance floor, but it is. “I didn’t think you’d know how to dance.”

“Why?” The Wolf asks, voice muffled beneath the mask.

“Well just not a lot of places to learn,” Stiles says as he picks away a piece of imaginary lint from his partner’s leather clad shoulder. “and hiding away above that garage every day I assume you haven’t found the time to visit Mrs. Potter’s dance classes.”

D stills under Stiles’ hands before letting out a breath and continuing to sway to the music. “How did you know it was me?” he asks.

“Are you kidding? I could pick out this leather jacket from a line-up in a dark room.” D chuckles softly but doesn’t respond. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t respond to any of my messages.”

“What messages?”

“On GChat.”

“Oh” yeah, oh, that website they used to talk on until Stiles made a gigantic fool of himself, the one he’d been avoiding.

“Oh” D parrots, as if to say ‘yeah you idiot’.

“Sorry”

“No,” D starts, lifting a hand from Stiles’ waist and taking his hand, “I wanted to apologize, I-when you-”

“It’s okay, I get it, I pushed too hard, saw something that wasn’t there. It’s okay. I’m not fragile, I will get over it.”

“No!” D stops swaying completely, as Stiles looks around hoping the outburst wasn’t noticed, “No,” he says again calmer, “it is there, it is, I’m just bad...with people.” Stiles couldn’t stop the smile forming on his face if he tried.”I’m sorry if I made you feel like I wasn’t, you know…”

“Wanting to bang me in the back of the studio while Alt-J plays overhead?”

“Stiles…” D groans, it’s only slightly funny coming from under the mask.

“It’s just a for instance…”

“What time is this thing over?”

“The dancing ends at midnight I think, so an hour?”

“Meet me at my place?”

“Wait, for real?”

“Yes you idiot, for real.”

“Okay.” he promises, his smile broadening even as D turns away and leaves him alone in the middle of the dance floor.

The rest of the night goes so slowly that Stiles is tempted to think time has stopped entirely. He plays a number of songs, not that he can remember which ones to save his life, says hi to a few more people he knows and narrowly escapes Kate where she’s talking to Peter on his way from the building. He shudders just thinking of the evil that could be perpetrated should those two ever team up.

It takes him a max of five minutes to skate over to D’s garage, his red cape now a bit askew and sweat-soaked from the heat in the ballroom. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he gets there. They’ve never kissed, hell they’ve only spoken a hand full of words in person. He’s frozen in front of the garage, looking up at the windows D used to put notes up in before they started chatting electronically. He wants so much, and it scares him a bit, this overwhelmingly odd sense of needing to know D from the first moment he saw his shoulder behind the trash-bin. He’d always been intrigued by the requests via window, but from the moment he spoke to him about his jeep he couldn’t stop thinking about him, wanting to know more. It was silly, but it was genuine, more than curiosity, almost obsession and it scares him.

Behind him Danny is sitting in the studio, only a small dim light on in the studio as he tinkers on his laptop and spins songs. Stiles wonders if he should acknowledge him, go say hi, see how his shift was going, it’s nothing he hasn’t done before, but a sudden movement in his peripheral catches his attention, and suddenly D is there, unlocking the gate for him, and holding it open.

He’s back in his signature hoodie, the hood deep enough to keep his face hidden. Stiles steps through, fiddling with his cape between his hands.

“Hi” D says, shutting the gate behind him.

“Hey, hi, hey there D.”

“D?”

“Uh yeah, it’s what I call you, you haven’t actually ever given me your full name, you know?”

“Oh, it’s Dylan.”

“It’s nice to meet you Dylan” Stiles smirks, Dylan just huffs a laugh and leads them into a side door. It’s dim inside, just a couple bulbs lighting a stairway. Stiles definitely does not ogle Dylan’s ass on the way up, even if it does looks like it was sculpted by Michelangelo, he has more class than that. Okay, he doesn’t because wow.

“It’s not much” Dylan is saying as they enter through the door at the top and into the small apartment he obviously lives in. It’s not much, space wise, there’s a small kitchen, with one row of cupboards and little counter space to speak of, a small two person dining table with one chair stuck to the side, and a living room with two doors which Stiles assumes leads to a bedroom and a bathroom. the  living room though immediately draws him in, there is an entire wall full of vinyl records, two guitars hang on the wall over the sofa and the whole room is comfy and lived in and in some ways reminds him of his own home, with splashes of color and patterns intermixing throughout.

“That’s quite a collection,” Stiles says as he investigates the records, they all seem to be alphabetized, he wishes he could hire Dylan to come organize the station’s backroom, it would definitely benefit.

“Yeah” Dylan answers, sliding up beside where Stiles is handling a vintage copy of Elvis Costello’s first album. Stiles slides the album carefully back into its allotted place before turning to his host, this is harder than he thought it would be, actually talking to D...Dylan. In his imagination conversation always flowed easily, not taking too much effort to move along, but being here, facing Dylan but not actually able to see his face leaves Stiles floundering.

“Do you think you could…” Stiles begins, motioning to Dylan’s hood.

“I don’t really...do that.”

“Show your face?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how am I supposed to kiss you?” he asks, reaching out gripping Dylan’s shoulder.

“You- you want to, with me?”

“I thought I made that pretty clear with the whole banging me in the studio comment back at the gala.”

“You might not,” Dylan begins, “when you see”

“I think that if I could fall for you with no face, I can handle whatever you have hiding under there.” Dylan makes a noise in his throat as if he’s about to argue the point, but suddenly, his posture straightens and he nods determinedly.

His hands come up slowly, gripping the edge of his hood and pulling it down. All Stiles can see is dark, nearly black hair at first, Dylan having tilted his head down. It looks soft, falling just above his ears, which are pale and slightly pink, Stiles runs a gentle fingertip along the edge of one, shocking Dylan into movement. His head comes up and his eyes are wide and frightened as if he is waiting for Stiles to run off and never return. Stiles is pretty sure his own are wide as well, because of all the things he was expecting this was not one of them.

The man before him is beautiful.

He can’t imagine what has possessed Dylan to hide himself away, his high forehead slopes gently down into a thin regal nose that flares perfectly at the end over soft looking lips, and his eyes! Stiles has never seen that color in nature before. blue green, gray eyes and seem to change as he awaits Stiles’ judgment. A thin coating of scruff adorns his jawline, tight and angular and perfect. There are scars, yes, one dissecting his plush lips and another crossing over the bridge of his nose but they are well healed and Stiles cannot find a way in which they detract from Dylan's beauty, they are simply there.

“I’m sorry…” Dylan says, reaching to bring his hood back up, but Stiles stills his hands immediately.

“How?” Stiles starts, he’s not sure how to say all he’s thinking, things along the lines of ‘how could you think you have anything to hide?’ and ‘who must have hurt you to make you feel like hiding was the only option?’ In the end he goes with. “I think I would like you to kiss me now.” Dylan’s eyes which had been trained on the floor shoot back up to his, surprise evident on his face. “please?” Stiles squeaks, worried that he’d overstepped, but that fear is swept away when Dylan steps forward, wrapping his arms fully around him and pressing his mouth against his own.

Dylan is about the same height but his build is much more impressive than Stiles’ own, he’s still shocked though when the man manages to slip his hands under his thighs and lift him into the air, and by surprised he means incredibly, irrevocably turned on. A feeling that does not dissipate until hours later when he lies spent and sweaty in Dylan’s arms.

****  
  


**BEFORE:**

 

It happens when they are still two day’s journey from The Court of Miracles. It’s after nightfall, but they had decided earlier to keep walking, hoping that they would both make up for lost time and that it would be easier to go unnoticed. There is no proof that anyone is after them, but the likelihood of the Derek’s escape going unnoticed by his uncle was slim to none. They couldn’t be too careful.

They’ve just rounded a bend in the road when the sound of hooves reach them. It’s easy enough to jump further into the forest to escape detection. They watch as the party gallops past from the safety of the thick treeline, sighing in relief when they show no signs of stopping. The both of them are tired, Derek especially whose gait makes it so one side tires rather more quickly than the other. Night isn’t the best time to traverse the countryside, but they have no choice. “Maybe we should stick to the forest for a bit.” Derek suggests.

“You’re probably right,” Genim agrees, not liking the idea of them tumbling their way through the brush and bramble littered forest, “Who knows if there’s another patrol close behind.” Derek nods and takes Genim’s hand in his, before leading them further into the woods.

It’s quiet for the most part, the occasional flutter of bird’s wings or movement of smaller game among the foliage, being the only obvious sounds. When their deep enough in that Genim is convinced no one can see them from the road, he stops and lights a small lantern. They’d happened upon it at an abandoned campsite the day before, picking up it and a small box of matches. When they’d happened upon the clearing possessions had been strewn everywhere, claw marks through any larger items that may have been of any use to them, a mountain lion attack it looked like, perhaps a bear. Either way, Genim had been glad there were no bodies to be seen. He could only hope that whoever the travelers were who had been at the campsite had gotten away.

The light helps some, illuminating more than the pale moonshine they’d been navigating with before. He can see the details of Derek’s handsome face now, the green/blue/brown/enchanting eyes and the faded scars, as well as a good six feet in any direction. It was a vast improvement.

The knife comes as a surprise though.

“Hello pet” a sultry voice whispers in his ear as the cold steel of a blade rests against Genim’s adam’s apple.

“What?” he squeaks

“Gen!” Derek yells, but two men appear from the darkness to hold him back.

“We have been tracking you two for miles, hardly the most observant prey.”

“Who-who are you? What do you want?” Genim demands.

“The more important question is what are the two of you doing in the Northern woods? Don’t you know this is werewolf territory?”

“Werewolves?” Genim nearly laughs, this woman must be out of her mind. “Those are just stories.”

“Oh are they?” The woman asks, though by her tone he can tell she’s not really asking, as she makes her way in front of Genim, though she doesn’t move the knife an inch. “And I suppose you weren’t making your way to The Big Bad Wolf’s lair to help your disfigured chum here. She could fix him right up, I’m sure.”

“There’s nothing wrong with him” Genim growls.

“Oh no?” She laughs, “What are you sick or something? You into hunchbacked monsters?”

“You” Genim seethes, starting to lunge at her, but stops short when a sharp sting trails over his neck, it’s just a small cut but he can feel the blood dripping down his taught neck.

“Well I suppose you really would fit in at the den then” She shrugs, not even acknowledging the cut or Genim’s attempt at aggression.  

“What do you want?” Derek demands, still trying to shrug off the hold of the two men behind him.

“What any hunter wants,” the blonde says, “A hot bath, a good nights sleep and to eradicate all monsters from The Enchanted Forest.”

“Well I’m afraid we’re all out of hot water and soap and we don’t know the location of any monsters either, so maybe you should be on your way and stop wasting everyone’s time.”

“You certainly have a mouth on you don’t you?” The huntress says, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe I can remedy that.” the knife moves suddenly and swiftly from his neck to his shoulder, diving into the hilt. He doesn’t scream, can’t even register what’s happened until he looks up to see Derek’s horrified expression.

“No!” Derek’s hand breaks loose at the sight of blood, reaching towards him, as if through power of will alone he can shake off the two meaty men who hold him. He looks panicked his chest heaving and his body battling for freedom as the blonde helps lower Genim slowly to the hard-pact earth.

“There there little gypsy” She smiles, leaning Genim against a nearby tree. He’s still silent, unable to comprehend what’s just happened, that is until the blonde reaches out and draws her knife back out. He wouldn’t call the sound he makes a scream, it’s smaller than that, but it sets Derek off again, screaming his name as Genim helplessly reclines against the trunk of the tree. “What do you say we play a little game?” She asks, leaning in to whisper into his ear, “You tell me where the den is and I, well I won’t let you live, but I’ll make it quick, for you and the freak.”

“S-sorry I have a policy against helping psychopaths” he winces. The huntress pulls back, her eyes ablaze.

“We really must do something about that mouth of yours.” The force of her fist sends Genim’s head back into the hard wood of the tree, his mind reeling, and balance off. When he can see straight again he realizes that she’s reaching out, forcing his chin down, prying his lips apart with her fingers.

He’s going to lose his tongue, he realizes, holy shit! She’s going to cut out his tongue! She works her fingers into  his mouth. He can taste dirt and the tang of copper, his own blood that had trailed down her knife and onto her hands. He can hear Derek still struggling behind her, soft deep thuds of fists against skin but Genim is too terrified and disoriented to move. He’s seen people without tongues before, homeless beggars on the streets of large cities, no one to rely on and no way to make their needs known. This can’t happen to him, it can’t!

The huntress raises her knife, bringing Genim’s tongue out of his mouth as far as she can and Genim struggles, moving his legs and body, trying to shake off her grasp but he’s too weak from blood loss and what is probably a concussion. The tip is just cutting into the tender flesh sending a searing ache through his body when the woods are suddenly full of howling.

The blonde flinches back, getting to her feet immediately and grabbing the crossbow strapped to her back. the men also step back from their hold on Derek, standing at attention, looking off into the woods around them. Derek lands heavily at his side, one hand pressing over the wound on his shoulder while the other cups his cheek. “...Gen...Gen are you okay?”

“M’fine” he mumbles, letting his head land on Derek’s shoulder as the howls around them seem to grow louder.

“Can you stand?” Derek whispers, trying not to draw the attention of the hunters, who are standing facing away from them as if preparing for an attack. Genim nods, leaning into Derek as he wraps an arm around his waist and helps him to his feet. They have two choices, the road or the woods, if they go back towards the road they run the risk of being found by The Mayor’s men, if they stick to the woods, they could run into the wolves that seem to be circling them. Derek takes off further into the woods, opposite the direction the hunters are focused on, if they have any luck they’ll kill each other off.

Genim just catches a glimpse of white and grey fur flying towards the blonde before Derek directs them down over the side of a steep hill and back into the darkness. Without a lantern and with Genim’s injuries their steps are clumsy, but they make it down the hill and away from the sounds of violence behind them.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asks, once they’re far away from the carnage to relax a bit.

“Fine, just..sore.” Genim says, taking more of his weight back as his head clears some. He can’t imagine the strain of carrying him is good for Derek’s muscles. Derek lets him but grabs his hand to lace their fingers together while Genim keeps pressure on his wound with the other.

“We’re lost.” Genim says, and they are. He’s not even sure what direction the road lies in any more they hadn’t stayed on a straight path since leaving the hunters and wolves behind and now they seem to have wandered in to a thicker area of the forest, the light of the stars above them barely even breaching the heavy boughs above them.  Derek grunts in agreement but keeps walking.

“We should stop”

“We can’t, you’re injured, we need to get you to The Court of Miracles as soon as possible.”

“Derek, we don’t even know if we are going in the right direction, walking any more could be just as likely to take us further to the court than closer.”

“Well perhaps we’ll come across a cabin or something, somewhere we can get you help.”

“You know as well as I do that the chances of that are slim, we need to rest.”

“I can’t lose you” Derek says, squeezing Genim’s hand hard.

“You won’t, but I can’t go on any further right now. I need rest.” Genim knows it’s playing dirty, telling Derek they need to stop for him. Derek will always do whatever he believes is best for Genim.

“Fi-”

Genim isn’t sure what happens between one second and the next but suddenly Derek is just gone, his anguished scream coming from the dark. “Derek!” Genim calls, his heart in his throat, “DEREK!” There’s no answer and Genim steps further in the direction he’s been standing, “Der-” he stops suddenly his feet reaching the edge of a steep drop. “No, no no no no no” he mutters, getting down on his knees in the dark and feeling along the edge. It’s long going out as far as he can reach in either direction, crumbling earth leading off into a black drop that he cannot even guess the depth of. “DEREK!!!” There’s no answer, “Derek please! DEREK!”

“What has happened?” An unfamiliar voice sounds beside him, golden eyes stare at him, illuminating fair skin and long brown hair. “Boy, what’s happened?” She ask again.

“He’s fallen, I can’t tell…” He starts looking back into the darkness.

“Stay here” she says suddenly, lowering her legs over the side of the drop, “I’ll go see where he is.” She slides easily over the edge disappearing just as suddenly as Derek had and Genim can do nothing. He’s never felt so helpless, even when he’d come back to see the gypsy campsite burned he at least knew that his home was gone, that Melissa was dead… Now Derek is just gone.

For minutes, all he can hear are feet sliding against dirt and the rush of the wind through the trees. His heartbeats so hard it almost makes him deaf to even that.  It’s a relief when the woman yells back up, “I’ve found him!”

“I-is he okay?” The woman does not answer, “Is he alive? Please tell me!”

“He lingers” The woman says, coming up over the edge of the drop with Derek’s heavy body over her shoulder. He’s not sure how she’s managed the weight, but he’s so thankful. At least he is until she lays him down beside him. Derek’s eyes are shut, blood soaking his cloak over his gnarled shoulder and rib cage..

“What happened?” He asks, reaching out to tug the clothes away from Derek’s injuries. He gasps when he sees the damage,  the skin like raw meat, scratched and open to reveal bits of stark white bone beneath. He will never survive this. Not here in the forest, possibly not if he had access to the best medical care. Genim feels all of his will leave him. The will to get to The Court, his will to escape the hunters and wolves, all of it is useless without Derek.

“The ground is treacherous where he fell, sharp rock and other debris” The woman explains, “He must not have seen it in the dark.” Genim cannot bring himself to speak, watching Derek’s chest rise is slow short pants, slowing with every inhale. He can’t feel anything, he knows that tears are rolling down his face but he can’t bring himself to touch Derek again, to accept what he’s seeing. “I am sorry.” The woman says placing a hand on Genim’s shoulder.

“Don’t!” Genim says, turning to her and shaking off her touch, “He’ll be fine. He wouldn’t leave me, not after everything.” The woman gives him a pitying look, “Do you hear me?” Genim turns back to his lover, “Don’t you dare leave me” he says, sitting up and touching his hand to Derek’s cheek, bringing his face towards him, “I adore you, you idiot. Please don’t make me go on without you, I could not bear it.” His vision is going in and out, his injuries coupled with stress making him weak. “Please…” he pleads, as he lays his head down over Derek’s chest. “Please Derek…”

“Boy, boy listen” the woman says, “I can save him.” Genim is sure he misheard, there is nothing anyone could do, not with Derek’s body in the shape it is. “I can save him” she says again, “but you have to give me permission, as his mate I need your permission.” Genim’s vision is darkening at the sides, his head feeling light and fuzzy, but still he manages to nod.

****  
Genim wakes to someone tending the wound on his shoulder, The hands are petite and gentle as they rub the salve into his skin. He struggles against the weight that seems to have settled over him like a blanket, “Der-” he croaks, the hands stop and rub lightly over his forehead. **  
**

“Sleep Genim” a voice says, and he does.

The next time he wakes it’s sudden and all at once. he sits up, with Derek’s name on his lips and an ache in his chest. The room he’s in is empty, only him and a bed and chair that’s seen better days. The walls are a rough mixture of dirt and stone and there are no windows but several candles burn to light the area. He stands slowly, his body sore from the hunter’s abuse and subsequent running.

He makes it to the door easily enough, his hand just barely touching the knob before it opens and the girl from the forest appears. “You’re up!” She smiles.

“Um, Y-yes” She moves into the room and leads Genim back to the bed with a hand around his arm.

“You shouldn’t be up, your body has been through a lot, you need to rest.”

“I’m fine, I need, where is Derek?”

“Genim….” Her tone is sad and no, no, no he cannot hear this right now. He knows what she’s going to say, he saw Derek’s body after the fall. He knows, but he can’t accept.

He’s out of the room before the girl can catch him, running down corridors that all looks the same, until finally he can see the faint hint of daylight. he climbs the steps up and out a rough wooden door until finally he can breathe fresh air.

He bends over, dragging in deep breaths or cool air, trying his best not to drop. His head is still spinning and his chest feels like it’s going to cave in. He feels a panic coming on, but he does not want to break down here. He stands up slowly, getting his bearings. The area around him is beautiful, a wide open clearing surrounded by deep woods, and the place where Derek must of fallen is straight ahead, the sun setting over the horizon it creates.

Towards the ledge a tall man is standing, broad shoulders and a lean waist cast in shadow by the approaching dusk. He’s not sure if the man is standing guard against something or making sure Genim himself stays put but his back is towards him to Genim takes the opportunity to escape.

He makes it only a few feet before something wraps around his ankle, winding around and getting under his feet. It takes a moment for him to recognize it, the black corse fabric that used to wrap around Derek’s uneven shoulders, now ripped and stiff with dried blood. His hands shake as he reaches out towards his legs. “No” he murmurs, bringing the cloak up and wrapping it in his arms and hugging it to his chest. “No no no” a sob breaks from his throat as he bends over the fabric.

“Genim” he hears someone call, footsteps growing nearer as he cries. “Genim”

A hand grabs his shoulder and Genim rears back “No!” he screams, flinching away from the touch. He doesn’t want comfort, he wants Derek and in lieu of that he just wants to be left alone to grieve.

“Genim” The voice tries again, but he doesn’t look away from the cloak, blood from his lover’s injuries and dirt from the road mixing to form horrible brown smears. “My god, Gen stop!” the voice says, wrestling the cloak away and tossing it aside.

As soon as it’s taken from him, his anger erupts, it’s sudden and all encompassing, only a moment before he’s turned on the stranger, fist connecting with a hard stubbled chin. The man goes down easily, sinking back on the ground as Genim surges forward again, “What do you think you’re doi-” He freezes as the man draws a hand away from his chin. “It can’t...you died..I...Derek” he sobs, his body collapsing into the arms of the older man. “I thought...oh god” he cries.

“Shh” Derek coos, “Everything is alright, I’m here, I’m with you…”

“But how?” Genim asks, leaning back to look at Derek, “How are you here? Your chest was ribbons…” It’s then that he notices Derek’s chest and shoulder, they’re normal. As in the left and right sides are symmetrical. Genim is on his feet and stepping away in the length of a breath. “You’re not him.”

“No, no I am” The man says, standing up and approaching Genim slowly.

“You can’t be, my Derek...he was different.”

“It was the wolves,” The other man explains, still moving slowly as if afraid he might spoke him. “You gave them permission to heal me, remember? Red asked you before you passed out.” He did remember something, vaguely, he was busy mourning and passing out at the time. The woman with the glowing eyes, she’d said something about mates and needing permission.

“Werewolves” Genim says, remembering what the huntress with the knife had been after. “They’re werewolves?”

“Yes,” Derek says, stepping into Genim’s space and settling a hand on his shoulder, “Red’s bite saved me, it healed everything, including…” he motioned to his once malformed side.

“So now you’re…”

“Yes.” Derek nods, taking his hand away and looking down as if ashamed.

“But you’re okay?”

“Yes” Derek nods.

“Oh thank god” Genim throws himself into Derek’s unsuspecting arms with a sigh of relief. Derek catching him easily, “Don’t you ever do that to me again.” Tilting his head just so as Genim brings their lips together. Derek smiles against his lover’s lips adjusting his hold until Genim’s feet leave the ground and his body is plastered against his. The kiss grows deeper, clutching hands and hungry mouths working to reaffirm their continued existence. Genim tongue runs along the seam of Derek’s lips, gaining enthusiastic entrance of the older man’s meets his own.Their tongues slide hot and wet and it is only moments beforGenim feels his thin pants start to tighten. He rubs his hard length against Derek’s own feeling the thrill of friction for a moment before it’s done and Genim is suddenly alone.

“Sorry” Derek says, looking at Genim with golden glowing eyes and sharp teeth, “I haven’t got a lot of control yet.”

“Oh” Genim says, understanding that the wolf must come to the surface under certain types of ‘stress’. “Well you know what helps with control?” he asks, slinking closer to his lover.

“What?”Derek asks, eyes roaming over his body.

“Practice.”

****  
  
**NOW:** **  
**

The curse breaks on a Tuesday. Stiles has just left the music store, paying of his prized guitar and feeling the thrill of it’s return running through his body when a wave of light rushes through him and he suddenly remembers everything.

He drops his guitar on the sidewalk, rushing back inside just in time to see his dad, his DAD, rushing towards him. “Poppa!” Stiles cries, letting this older man enveloped him into a warm hug.

“Genim” his father says, bringing him back to look him over, tears in his eyes, “I hoped, I always hoped you’d made it, I couldn’t find you…”

“It’s okay poppa, I’m fine” he assures him, looking up into the kind blue eyes that belong to all those hazy memories he could never quite recall. “I missed you.” his father brought him in for another hug, unable to say anything else and Stiles let himself relax into the embrace he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel again after the day half of their tribe was murdered. They’d never made it to The Court of Miracles before the curse took them to Storybrooke. He and Derek getting waylaid by the need to let Derek adjust to being a wolf.

Derek.

“Oh my god!” Stiles shoots back from his dad, “He’s here!”

“Who’s here?”

“Derek-Dylan-Derek! I’ll be right back okay?” Stiles smiles, rushing towards the door, “I promise, I’ll be right back.”

His sneakers echo off the tarmac of the road as he makes his way towards the station. All around him he can see the town waking up, murmurings of confusion, shouts of delight, even some cries of relief. Stiles only has his mind on one thing though.

He rounds the corner, waving to Ruby (Red) as he rushes past the dinner laughing as she rolls her eyes. He makes it four more blocks turning a corner just in time to see Dyl-Derek rush out from the garage and into the street. His hood is down and he looks disheveled, his jacket tied around his waist and hair askew. “Derek!” Stiles yells, still running towards his lover. Derek turns immediately recognizing his true name. His arms are open and waiting when Stiles gets to him.

“You’re here.” Derek whispers, binding Stiles up in his arms and holding him as close as possible.

“Of course I’m here.” Stiles says, looking Derek over, “I adore you, you-” Derek kisses him before he can finish.

 

** THE END. ** **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the story, feel free to comment of leave kudos.
> 
> You can catch me on TUMBLR here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/killedthequeen


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